


Common Ground

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Mists of Pandaria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 57,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: [*REPOST*] A harvest festival in Halfhill brings enemies too close for comfort, and Anduin struggles to hide a budding new crush from his father.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story back in 2014, and chose to take it down a few months later as my headcanons developed and my understanding of these characters deepened. However, I have been thinking a lot about this work and I am still proud of the story I put together, even if there are little details I'd write differently were I to write it now. I've decided to repost it, keeping the 2014 version intact. I hope you enjoy this very old fanfic!

_________________________

It was the last day of the eighth lunar month, exactly two weeks and two days after the Thunder King’s fall, and tensions in The Valley of the Four Winds were, in Anduin’s opinion, unnecessarily high. It was the eve of Halfhill’s annual harvest festival, and locals had made a point to invite the leaders of both Alliance and Horde in celebration of their successes on the Isle of Thunder. Elder Shu of Zouchin Village had even made the long journey south to coordinate a tribute for the heroes who had involved themselves in the conflict; Pandaren chefs from around the continent had worked together to plan an expansive feast in their honor. It was the kind of opportunity for peace and mutual understanding that Anduin normally cherished, but right now he couldn’t help but feel a weight of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Upon arriving at the campsite set aside for the Alliance at the southwest corner of the village, his father had called together all of those heads of Alliance organizations and race leaders who had agreed to attend for a ‘summit’ regarding the current guest list. The whole operation was, with lines of Alliance guards forming a perimeter around their cluster of blue-and-gold tents and gossip spreading about the absence of several key leaders, shaping up to be somewhat of a debacle. The peaceful farmers and brewers who dwelled here wouldn’t understand these petty jabs being tossed between groups: It would be nice if they could have both put their differences aside for a few days to properly thank the Pandaren for their hospitality. But Anduin knew too well that this was an impossible dream, and no one sitting at his father’s table right now seemed particularly interested in what he had to say regarding customs and ethics in the region.

“We must pay special attention to Archmage Aethas,” The strained tone in Vereesa’s voice shook him from his thoughts; despite its usual, melodious pitch, the edge of anger lurking beneath the surface was unmistakable. “He is still reeling over his dismissal from Dalaran, and I am afraid he might use Lady Proudmoore’s absence against us while interacting with the local population.”

Anduin withheld his grimace. He knew and understood Jaina’s reasons for being angry with the Horde– she had lost everything, and nobody should fault her for being reluctant to get involved with them. Seeing her reject the possibility of peace was disheartening, and yet, he knew it wasn’t his place to judge someone who had suffered so much pain. The thought of anyone using her choice to abstain from the gathering against her upset Anduin even more than her sudden preference for war. 

“Should we mark him as a potentially violent target, or is the threat he poses merely a diplomatic matter?” Sky Admiral Rogers spoke up from the other end of the table, glancing at Rell Nightwind, who was seated to her left.

“The Archmage prefers to scheme from the sidelines,” Vereesa responded without hesitation. “The Sin’dorei’s official stance on Lady Proudmoore is that she has behaved childishly in Dalaran. I do not think they would hinder that position with a public attack. It is not in his nature to act so rashly.”

Anduin felt his father nod thoughtfully beside him. “It’s not as if we are dealing with Garrosh.” 

_Thankfully._ The young prince, despite his resolve to use this festival for the sake of peace, had been none too pleased at the prospect of seeing the Warchief again, particularly while memories of their last conflict still haunted his every limping step, but the orc had, thank the Light, turned down Haohan Mudclaw’s invitation.

“Trail the Archmage and the Regent Lord, but do not engage unless it becomes necessary. Report back to me on their activities, and see what you can discover of the situation in Orgrimmar. I will be meeting with envoys from Vol’jin tomorrow morning, but I do not trust them to tell the whole story.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Rell bowed his head. Amber Kearnen and Nodd Codejack, stationed at either side of the tent’s closed flap, responded in kind.

Varian regarded his agents with a grim nod before returning his gaze to the sheets of parchment spread out in front of him. “According to the guest list, the only other race leader who will be in attendance is Baine Bloodhoof.”

Anduin smiled in spite of himself, silently hoping he would get the chance to speak to the High Chieftain during the course of the festivities. The reports he had been hearing exchanged between his father and various contacts from Kalimdor were troubling, to say the least, and he often found himself worrying about the tauren leader who cared so deeply for the welfare of his people. Besides, if Baine was in attendance it was likely that Sunwalker Dezco would be here, as well, and he hoped to continue a discussion about the Light and its many manifestations they had had one evening at the Tavern in the Mists. 

The prince’s pleasure at this revelation must have been a bit more obvious than he had hoped. Prophet Velen, seated directly across from him, offered him a serene but knowing smile, and he suddenly became aware of his father watching him out of the corner of his eye. He quickly pursed his lips to neutralize his expression, but he wasn’t quite sure the grin ever really left his eyes. 

Varian let out a small cough, “It has been long since the tauren leader troubled us with war-like aggression, but we must remain vigilant in spite of his bids for peace. Again, trail him, report anything you learn regarding the situation with Garrosh: This mission is as much about gathering intelligence as it is about protecting ourselves from the Horde. We need insight into their political situation, and hopefully the Pandaren brews will loosen their tongues and give us the ‘in’ we need. This standstill between us will not last for long.”

Anduin shifted in his seat. The thought of using this kind of gathering as an outlet for spying made him intensely uncomfortable and, though he knew the Horde would be doing the same thing if left in the Alliance’s position, he couldn’t help but wish his father hadn’t hit upon the idea. But he kept his objections to himself, knowing that one misspoken complaint would get him banned from attending such conferences in the future. He had spent several years trying to convince Varian he was old enough to take part in political meetings, and he didn’t want to risk losing those privileges unless it became absolutely necessary to speak up. He clenched his hands together in his lap as a way of channeling the tension he felt elsewhere.

“Is there anything else I should be aware of before we break until evening?” The King continued, looking from person to person around the circumference of his table. 

“Here is the guest list containing the names of neutral figures and Pandaren faction leaders.” Genn Greymane lifted up another sheet of parchment, nodding to Varian before passing it around the table. “Very few of the names struck me as troubling, but one of them, at least, may be worth monitoring.”

Anduin didn’t even need to look down at the paper passed into his hands to know to whom Greymane was referring. The squeak of disapproval from Gelbin Mekkatorque on his left was all the confirmation he needed. He shoved the list into his father’s hands, praying that his fingers weren’t shaking when he accidentally bumped against his palm. _Maybe he’ll be too caught up with the Horde to concern himself over this,_ Anduin tried to convince himself, but, if he knew his father half as well as he thought he did, he doubted Varian would drop this so quickly.

The King lifted up the parchment, his eyes narrowing as they came to rest on the hastily circled name at the bottom of the page. “So the dragon has slithered out of his den in the mountains,” he mused, humorlessly. “One of these days we need to explain the potential threat he and his kind present to this land, corruption or no corruption. To welcome a black dragon into your home is to invite chaos and deception, and I am not sure they have fully come to terms with that here.” 

Any semblance of a smile fell from Anduin’s face. His hands, now balled into fists in his lap, dripped with sweat. His father knew he had been in contact with Wrathion (though, thankfully, he didn’t know the extent of that contact), but refused to defer to him before making these assertions. In truth Anduin wasn’t sure he wanted to speak for the other prince, worrying that the lump rising in his throat or the color falling from his cheeks would betray far more about the situation than he wanted to give away, but sitting by and letting his father, who had refused on multiple occasions to meet him, criticize him to the group was equally frustrating. Anduin couldn’t kid himself into believing that the dragon was wholly innocent, but that didn’t make his father’s charges against him any easier to swallow. The Pandaren of Halfhill had invited Wrathion because he had personally worked to build a bond of trust with them, and now his father spoke of destroying those bonds with generalizations and unfounded claims. This was just too much: Anduin’s head pounded.

“I only hope he doesn’t make a spectacle of himself by transforming into his true form,” Greymane pointed out, earning a few ‘hms’ of approval from others seated around the table. “The last thing we need is a dragon stomping around a Pandaren village. The hysteria that would likely ensue would be too much for locals and Alliance champions alike.”

Anduin didn’t know whether to laugh or to scream; He had intended to remain silent, but somehow some kind of sound must have slipped out from the base of his throat, because several members of the conference whipped their heads to the side to look at him. A blush promptly overtook his cheeks. 

“Did you have something to add on this matter, Prince Anduin?” Varian’s tone was formal, but, despite his recent attempts to maintain composure in the face of conflict, his annoyance was nevertheless obvious to one who knew him as well as Anduin. There was a slight edge– a sharpness in his eye that seemed to say ‘Do not embarrass me, son’– and Anduin tensed beneath it.

“I just,” he forced a sheepish smile, “wanted to clarify that the Black Prince’s true form is small enough to fit in my palms.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, he realized how strange they sounded. He wondered for a moment if he should backpedal or keep going, deciding that the latter might distract from the strange images inevitably running through the other leaders’ heads. “He’s a whelp, I mean, barely capable of flying long distances. I’ve, um, seen him transform a few times …”

Varian shot him a warning look, but Vereesa did not seem to notice as she started questioning him, “Yes, Lady Proudmoore mentioned that you had spent time with him, Prince Anduin. Perhaps you know the extent to which he has developed draconic powers, and the forms they have taken?”

“Well, yes.” He nodded; a shadow of unease began to gnaw at the pit of his stomach, and a voice in the back of his head urged him, despite his loyalties to Vereesa and the others, to choose his words carefully. The last thing he needed was to say something that sparked an Alliance attack on Wrathion: the very thought made him feel as if he were going to be sick. “He has dragon fire, of course, and he can fly short distances.”

“But have you ever seen him manipulate the earth like his father?” Mekkatorque seemed to get a bit taller as he squirmed in his seat. “Does he ever speak of the Old Gods?”

Anduin took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. “He speaks of the Old Gods often, but only to point out that he is free of their corruption. He killed several tainted dragons, after all.”

“It is true that the Red Dragonflight alerted our Farseer, Nobundo, of Prince Wrathion’s inclement loyalties.” Despite the troubling revelation he offered, Velen remained free of judgment as he addressed the group. If these words had come from anyone else, Anduin would have had a difficult time maintaining his composure, but when it was his mentor who spoke he knew he couldn’t let himself grow angry. He nodded weakly at Velen, unsure of what else to say. 

“That being said,” Velen continued, his voice placid and even, “We must trust Prince Anduin’s judgment in this matter, as he is, to my knowledge, the only one here who has met with the dragon prince.”

The inkling of frustration Anduin had sought to stifle gave way to an overwhelming sense of gratitude. He thanked the Light for the Prophet’s words, silently hoping that Wrathion wouldn’t prove him wrong and create some kind of a scene under the Alliance’s gaze during the festival. The last thing he wanted was for Velen to regret supporting him in this discussion. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing his fellow priest.

Anduin soon realized that silence had descended upon the meeting; they, after the Prophet’s urging, were waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat, looking first to his father and then to each other leader seated around the table. _Be honest, Anduin. You have to be honest with them,_ he reminded himself. “It is true that I have had my misgivings about Prince Wrathion. Some of his political views are…” he grappled for a neutral word, finding none that aptly described the dragon, “extreme, and he was a bit more curious about the Mogu Empire than he probably should have been, but he loathes the Old Gods and his father as much as we do, and he has never tried to cause me any kind of harm. He is young and stubborn, yes, and he dislikes the red dragons who made him, but he is not evil.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he looked to his father for some sign that he hadn’t misspoken or overstepped his role as observer. But Varian met his glance with a nod, and around the table several others added their own murmurs. The knot in his stomach subsided, and he felt his cheeks returning to their normal hue. He had been clear and diplomatic, undermining neither his father’s nor his friend’s trust, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased with himself. 

Varian looked down at the list and then back at his son, finally asserting, “The dragon won’t be marked as a violent threat. Monitor, but don’t engage. We will give him a fair chance unless he breaks trust with us.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

_________________________

Upon arriving at the door of his tent Anduin couldn’t help but feel that something was…off. The bottom corner of the flap was curled up slightly along the edge, and the stake immediately to its right seemed a bit loose in the ground. However, the guards stood only a few feet away, giving no indication that they suspected tampering, and he didn’t want to embarrass one of them for setting up the tent improperly.

So he continued without comment, leaning against his crutch with one arm while the other made quick work of the lacings on the door. As he pulled back the canvas fabric, he felt a waft of warm air beckoning him inside. Someone must have left a fire going in the stove by his bed, he realized, wondering who on earth had found the time to do that while everyone else scrambled to set up the camps.

It wasn’t long before he got his answer. 

Sitting on the corner of his bed, arms outstretched, was a familiar turbaned figure. The glow of his eyes stood out in the shade created by the blue canvas, wide and vast as he greeted Anduin. “Prince Anduin! What a pleasure to see you.”

“Wrathion!” Anduin hissed, shoving the flaps closed behind him, praying that nobody had heard the exclamation. “You aren’t supposed to be over in this camp. If the guards–” 

“Don’t worry yourself about the guards, my dear Prince,” Wrathion gave his hand a dismissive flick. He jumped off the corner of the bed, rising to his feet with all the charm and poise Anduin had come to expect from him. Well, from this side of him, anyways: the side that tried to get his way with soothing words and practiced answers. Anduin had become well acquainted with the dragon’s various moods in their time together, and while this certainly wasn’t his favorite, it wasn’t the most troublesome, either. Keeping the charm turned on during the festival might even work to Anduin’s advantage, particularly if (when?) Wrathion tried to meet his father. 

“They’re standing right outside, and you aren’t exactly being quiet, you know,” Anduin pointed out, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

“And I have taken all the necessary precautions to ensure we are not interrupted.” Before Anduin had the chance to worry over these ‘precautions,’ Wrathion closed the space between them, sliding his gloved hand across Anduin’s cheek and regarding him with an unreadable stare. “Would you prefer if I left?”

“No, you can stay, it’s just…”Anduin was suddenly keenly aware of the warmth of Wrathion’s mouth just inches from his own, and had to bite his lip to keep himself from reacting. He was pleased to see Wrathion, too, of course, but that didn’t mean that he felt comfortable kissing him in a tent where his guards might come in at any moment, particularly after the rousing debate about the dragon that Anduin had engaged in less than an hour ago. He pressed his hand against the dragon’s leather sash, gentle but cautionary, “No.” 

Wrathion took a step backwards, giving him space. Anduin was relieved, thankful that, despite the surprise visit, the dragon was ready as always to respect his boundaries. He reached down, taking his hands in his own and giving them a squeeze. “I, uh, thought you should know,” he knew his friend wasn’t going to like it, but decided that it was only right to tell him. “We just had a meeting about potential ‘threats’ who are attending the feast tonight. Your name came up.”

“What?” Just as Anduin had expected, he could feel the tension creeping into his friend’s voice. The hands he held in his own tightened around the back of his hand; he could feel the shape of the dragon’s nails through his leather gloves. He rubbed his thumb along the coarse material, trying to calm him down.

“I pose no threat to the Alliance!” Anduin decided it best not to protest this point, forcing his expression to stay neutral. Outside he heard one of the guards shifting. He prayed silently that he wouldn’t poke his head into the tent, and luckily, his prayers were answered. If they heard the dragon snap, they seemed not to recognize its source.

“I have mentioned on _several occasions_ that I admire your father’s tenacity. I am only trying to do what’s best for the world. A _threat?_ ” The dragon sputtered. Anduin gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Honestly? Well, I don’t care. Let them think what they want.”

And yet, every snarl in his voice and twitch of his muscles undermined that breathy exclamation. Deciding that calming the dragon was more pressing than the possibility of being caught with him, Anduin leaned forward and brushed his lips against his. He felt Wrathion’s bottom lip tremble beneath his kiss. Releasing his hold on his hand, he moved his palm to his waist and nudged him closer. 

“Wrathion,” He rubbed his thumb against the silk fabric of his shirt. “I told them that you are not like your father,” with that his breath started to soften, “but I also didn’t lie for you. I convinced them that you deserve the chance to make your own name for yourself. That’s why it’s really important that you make a good impression with the leaders tonight. You’ve always asked me when I’m going to convince them to meet with you: Well, here’s your chance. Don’t blow it, all right?”

“I don’t need you chastising me, Prince Anduin,” Wrathion scolded, but the edge in his voice was gone. He leaned in for another kiss, and this time Anduin didn’t push him away, grateful that he had gotten control of himself and seemed to be considering the human’s words even while he protested his involvement. The priest could have even sworn he heard Wrathion mumble a light ‘thank you’ against his skin. He nodded, parting his lips.

When they separated, Anduin watched his face for a moment, making sure the last signs of his anger had faded. “So, did you stop by for a particular reason, or did you just want to say hello?”

Wrathion sighed dramatically; Anduin couldn’t help but chuckle. “I came to ask if I could escort you to the feast, but it seems that _Daddy_ is going to stand in our way.”

“Did you really plan on sitting at the Alliance table? What happened to your _neutrality_?”

“I thought you might prefer sitting with me. Judging by the company you keep, I have a difficult time thinking you anything but neutral. I’m sure most young men of the Alliance would be very reluctant to call Thrall a role model, and yet here you are.” 

Anduin shook his head. “Just because I’m loyal to the Alliance doesn’t mean I don’t see the need for peace.”

“Sure,” Wrathion sneered. “‘Peace.’”

Not wanting to plummet into another political discussion, Anduin deferred the insult by giving the dragon a quick hug. “I will look for you after the feast, if I can get away from my guards. But right now I need to start getting ready.”

“Yes, of course.” With that, Wrathion transformed into his dragon form. It took all of Anduin’s strength to keep from giggling; no matter how many times he saw the whelp, he still couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and pet him. But Wrathion had to be in a much more pleasant mood than the one he was in right now to allow that kind of behavior, and Anduin didn't want to risk it. 

“I will find you later. Look for me.”

_You would be difficult to miss._ The human prince smiled to himself as he watched Wrathion fly to the ground and wriggle beneath the folded flap. “Don’t get caught,” he whispered in parting. The dragon disappeared beneath it, and he was left to his own thoughts. Walking over to his trunk, he opened it and started searching for the dress pants and tunic he would be wearing tonight. He held it up in front of himself: the fine pandaren silk caressed the back of his hand like a kiss, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Wrathion would have to say about it. Although he knew he probably shouldn’t be fantasizing about such things, he couldn’t stop a happy blush from claiming his cheeks. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so rough, after all.

_________________________

By the time Anduin arrived at the feast, most of the dinner guests had already found their seats. The Tillers had set up banquet tables stretching vertically from Halfhill to the river, striping the entire meadow from the Imperial Granary to the Silken Fields. Near the river banks three smaller tables stood perpendicular to these rows: One decorated with blue lanterns and one with red, with a third, longer table, decorated with gold, standing in front of them. The fields hummed pleasantly with the sounds of late summer insects, and the light of the setting sun cast its rusty hues across the surface of the water. Anduin couldn’t help but smile to himself at the care the people of the Valley had taken in setting up such a beautiful feast.

He made his way behind the table decorated in blues and took the empty seat between his father and Prophet Velen. Casting a sidelong glance down the length of the table, he was pleased to see that all of the Alliance races were represented; Although Tyrande and the Council of the Three Hammers had failed to attend, they had sent delegates to represent their city and people. The Horde table, Anduin soon found, was another matter entirely: Both the undead and the goblins were missing entirely, and an orc he didn’t recognize sat at the far end of the line looking intensely uncomfortable. As his father had mentioned, only Lor’themar Theron and Baine Bloodhoof had decided to attend, and even they didn’t seem especially relaxed among their companions. For a fleeting moment Anduin worried they might be feeling apprehensive about of the row of Alliance guards around the perimeter of the banquet, but soon realized that their own troops stood watch over their table in similar fashion. If not the Alliance, what could be making them uneasy?

While Anduin speculated about these absences, the last of the guests trickled into their places and waited in earnest for the feast to begin. After a pause, two pandaren rose from their seats at the golden table and came to stand in the center of the clearing: Haohan Mudclaw of the Tillers, and Elder Shu of Zouchin Village. After a few words of greeting, Elder Shu presented Lor’themar, Vereesa, and Taran Zhu with medals commemorating their service on the Isle of Thunder. There was a round of thunderous applause, and then lines of pandaren emerged carrying trays of food and more beer than Anduin had ever seen in one place. The field soon filled with the excited clanks of plates and mugs as everyone dug in to the dishes placed before them.

After helping himself to a generous serving of Valley Stir Fry and shrimp dumplings, Anduin took to studying the crowd in front of him. The gold table, the one reserved for neutral faction leaders and other noteworthy citizens of Pandaria, bustled with activity and spirited conversation. Haohan had fallen into deep conversation with Jaluu of the Golden Lotus, and Chen Stormstout was telling a story that had several of the guests surrounding him roaring with laughter. 

His gaze then settled on a smaller figure seated at the far end of the table. Although Wrathion had swapped his usual attire for a red-and-gold tunic in the traditional pandaren style, his eyes, shining in the same crimson hue as the robe he wore, made him unmistakable even in such a crowd. He seemed to sense Anduin’s stare, glancing over at the exact moment the human tried his best to look away. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Wrathion cracked a smile. 

By the time dessert was served guests had started to mill around between tables: It wasn’t long before the Black Prince made his move, flanked by his bodyguards ‘Right’ and ‘Left’ and two other Blacktalon guards Anduin didn’t recognize. He made his way down the row, greeting each of the faction leaders in turn with all of the charm and ease of an old friend. As he drew closer, Anduin couldn’t help but hold his breath.

“Vereesa Windrunner,” Wrathion nodded, offering her a mysterious smile. “Congratulations on your award. I was pleased to witness your successes on the Isle during my travels through the region. I only regret that Lady Proudmoore couldn’t be here this evening to celebrate with the rest of us: I would have very much enjoyed speaking with her about the arcane fields she discovered surrounding Lei Shen’s residence.”

It took all of Anduin’s strength not to reach over and give his friend a good shake. He knew all too well what Wrathion was trying to get at– he wanted to know why Jaina hadn’t accompanied the other Kirin Tor, probably suspecting it had more to do with politics than with her busy schedule– and hoped someone would fill him in after Anduin had flat out refused last week. Luckily Vereesa didn’t rise to the bait, instead meeting him with a polished response: “Lady Proudmoore regrets her absence this evening, but unfortunately another matter arose in Dalaran that demanded her attention. I will send her your regards.”

“That would be excellent, Vereesa. Thank you.” If Wrathion was annoyed, he didn’t let it show, instead taking a step to the side so he was standing directly in front of Anduin’s father. “King Varian Wrynn, it is truly an honor to finally meet you,” he nodded again. 

“Prince Wrathion,” Varian responded curtly; his jaw clenched, betraying his discomfort. Anduin could feel the tension setting in between them and wordlessly prayed that Wrathion would sense it before he overstayed his welcome.

“I hope that someday we can speak more privately about matters that will be of mutual concern. I trust you have received my invitation to the Tavern in the Mist?”

“I have.”

Unable to sit by and let the halted exchange take a turn for the even worse, Anduin seized the pause as an opportunity to chime in. “Isn’t it beautiful out here tonight, Prince Wrathion? And the food was delicious. I am glad you were able to break from your duties at the Tavern and travel down here.”

Wrathion cast him a confused glance, but quickly recovered by extending his hand in Anduin’s direction. Anduin took it and gave it a quick shake, fighting the urge to blush under his father’s watchful eye. “A pleasure as always, Prince Anduin,” the dragon murmured. The golden bracelets around his wrist jangled when he withdrew his arm. “I hope we see more of each other during the coming festivities.”

“Yes, I’m sure we will,” Anduin’s tone was halted, shaky, but these were the most honest words he had spoken all evening. The air at the faction tables was stifling and stressed, and he couldn’t wait for the chance to wander among the other guests away from politics and the anxieties hanging heavy in the air. 

Not to mention that Wrathion looked particularly striking in his crimson robes or that the moonlight played on his loose hair in all the ways Anduin loved this evening. But the more he considered this, the more he flushed, and he couldn’t risk letting his father catch him in a prolonged stare. With a deep breath he smoothed out his tabard and waited for the tables to clear.

_________________________

“The Tillers will be making a community offering to the local land spirits tomorrow before noon. I hope you will consider attending, Prince Anduin.”

Anduin looked up from the table of amulets and charms he had been perusing, his lips cracking into a smile at the sound of a familiar voice. “Hello, Sunwalker Dezco. Yes, I’ve been looking forward to it! I’ve learned a lot about the Light during my time in Pandaria, but I haven’t actually seen a pandaren religious service.”

The Sunwalker smiled, turning his attention to the Celestial amulets in a box at the center of the table. “It will be a new experience for us both, then, though perhaps less foreign to me.” 

The human prince looked down at the charm of Chi-Ji cupped in his hand, watching it flicker in the glow of the moon. In the muted light, the figure of the crane seemed to take on a shine of its own. “Yes, that’s true. But that’s why I think it’s especially important for me to attend. Even ten years ago it would have been unheard of for a priest or a paladin to learn about other religions, but now…”

The tauren nodded. “You are open-minded, Prince Anduin. I admire that quality in you.” 

Anduin met the compliment with a sheepish smile, handing the pandaren girl behind the table a handful of gold coins and tucking the amulet away in his robe. He leaned on his crutch for support. “As are you, Sunwalker, for taking an interest in the Light. When we first heard of tauren paladins we were reluctant, but meeting you has shown me that the Light wears many guises. I wish more of my people would recognize that.”

“Many divide the world into extremes. For my people, this way of thinking is very strange. I am glad you and I can find common ground in this respect.”

“It’s changing for us humans these days. The inclusion of races in the Alliance who honor the spirits or the Earth Mother alongside the Light was initially testing for my people, but we have come to accept that these beliefs can coexist, and it has helped us to grow as a culture,” Anduin replied, not wanting to take more credit for being progressive than was due to him. He and the tauren started walking together down the road leading between Halfhill and the Brewery: Stalls beckoning festival-goers to various amusements lined the stretch, each glowing with the inviting light of lanterns hung from the corners of their canopies. It was a lot to take in, and unfortunately the dirt path made it difficult for Anduin to walk quickly with his cane. But the tauren was patient, taking each step with measure so as to never stray ahead of his smaller companion. 

“Yes. Approaching new ideas can lead to immense transformation. There is so much to be learned from looking at revelations without casting judgment. I am glad you and I agree on this matter, Prince Anduin.” The tauren paused as a group of pandaren children dashed out in front of them. They strayed off the road and made for the farms to the north but only traveled a few steps before one of them cried out in fear. The guard station at the edge of the Horde camp stood in front of them, menacing the shadows just beyond the festival’s warmth. Dezco shook his head. “Our wars and conflicts must be difficult for the peaceful citizens of the Valley to understand.” 

Anduin let out a sigh. “I wish we could have agreed to meet in peace without setting up a line of soldiers between us. I have often heard stories about the Argent Tournament and its relative success in bringing the factions together. If it was possible then, it should be possible now.”

“Yes. But the world is different now. We can only hope that the cycle comes back around to peace and cooperation before these wars tear us apart. I disagree with our mutual acquaintance about a great many things, but he raises a fair point about the inefficiency of these conflicts between us.”

“Especially while we share so many common enemies.”

“Indeed.”

“But never tell him I said that. The last thing I need is for him to name me his new ‘conqueror.’” They exchanged smiles; Anduin struggled to hold back his laughter as an expression that seemed to say ‘I don’t think anyone would make that mistake’ played across the tauren’s face. 

They started down the road again; the scent of steaming bean buns billowed from a nearby stall, filling the air with their sweetness. The paladin responded, “I saw him earlier, but he was busy trying to engage Lorewalker Cho in a conversation so I decided it best to leave him alone. I trust he will seek you out before the night is over.”

Anduin was suddenly thankful for the flickering lantern light, hoping that its shadows would, basically, conceal his blush. A few weeks before the fall of the Thunder King, the Sunwalker had caught him kissing Wrathion out behind the Tavern. Though he had never broached the topic with them, it was clear he guessed even more about the situation than either of them was willing to admit. But he had, respectfully, remained silent. Anduin had never been so grateful for somebody else’s courtesy. “I saw him at dinner, but we are hoping to meet sometime later.”

“You will have no trouble finding him. He has several of his bodyguards trailing with him. He isn’t on heightened security this evening, is he?”

Anduin shook his head. “Not that I know of.” He didn’t think Wrathion would increase his guard just because the Alliance had decided to monitor him, but he wasn’t sure. However, admitting to the tauren that his father had placed a watch on his…whatever Wrathion was to him…struck him as improper, and a bit embarrassing. “Well, you know the Black Prince,” Anduin continued, more for himself than for his companion, “He’s always one for a spectacle.”

“That may be true, but recently I’ve been given to think that he has more enemies than he lets on to us,” the tauren paused for a moment, shaking his head. “But I don’t mean to worry you. Remain vigilant and walk in the Light. There is much we cannot change, but I believe your encouragement and care will guide him through the shadows.”

_If only it were that easy._ But Anduin couldn’t let his thoughts stray towards pessimism, clinging to the warm weight of the amulet tucked against his chest. “May the Light watch over you, Sunwalker.”

“And you as well, Prince Anduin. _Ish-ne-alo por-ah_.”

Anduin watched the tauren disappear into the crowd, though between the gold shine of his pauldrons and his massive height it took several minutes for him to fade completely from view. He tried his best not to let his thoughts stray back to Dezco’s warning: although there was nothing particularly surprising about the revelation, the thought of an attack on his friend was something he couldn’t bear to entertain. Not tonight, when the world around him swelled with pleasing smells and laughter and the glitter of lanterns beneath the moonlight.

After pausing to regain strength in his leg, Anduin made his way down the road heading towards the Brewery. He could feel the SI:7 agents who were trailing him staring as he wove in and out of the crowd, though he had no doubt that they remained completely concealed among the festival goers. As much as he would have liked to give them the slip and break off on his own, he at least took comfort in the fact that nobody would feel ill at ease crossing paths with a heavily guarded prince tonight. Well…at least not _this_ heavily guarded prince, he reminded himself.

Ahead of him, a small booth bustled with the cheers and cries of pandaren children. Two girls leaned over the counter, aiming tiny balls at a row of bowls at the back of the tent, their frowns deepening as they missed the water time after time. Anduin cracked a smile. Extracting a handful of gold coins from the money pouch at his waist, he walked over and placed it on the counter. “Excuse me, can we have a few more of those balls over here.”

The pandaren gamekeeper nodded, scooping up a handful of the plastic toys and leaving them on the surface between Anduin and the children. He nodded, urging them forward. “It’s more fun to play with others, after all.” The smaller of the two girls giggled. 

After watching them miss a few more times, Anduin decided to try his hand. He held up the sphere between his fingers, looking first at a bowl (he could see now that a goldfish flashed and darted beneath the surface) and then at his hand, taking a breath, and tilting back his wrist.

“Prince Anduin,” a voice hissed into his ear. 

His shoulders tensed. The ball, so carefully aimed, dropped from his fingers and bounced off the counter with a light clack. “Wrathion!” He scolded, barely catching the other spheres with his arms before they rolled off the corner of the table. “Was that _really_ necessary?”

“Oh? Were you doing something?” The dragon regarded the cluster of children with a quick glance before peeking over Anduin’s shoulder towards the bowls. His chin pressed against the nape of his neck, his goatee tickling in ways that brought color to the human’s cheeks. “I had no idea you were a fan of such amusements, my dear prince. I never pegged you as the athletic type.”

“Ha, very funny, my dear prince,” Anduin mimicked his tone, forgetting in the heat of the moment to guard his words. One of the girls beside him giggled, but the other, the smaller one with tufts of red hair behind her ears, hid her face against the counter.

Wrathion pressed his hand not-so-subtly against Anduin’s waist as his other arm snaked around to pick up a ball. He squirmed, but didn’t pull away. “Ah, but lucky for you and these charming ladies, I am especially skilled at games of this nature.”

“There isn’t much else to do up in the mountains all day,” Anduin teased, shooting the girls beside him a knowing smile. He felt Wrathion’s clawed fingers, unusually glove-free in the pandaren garb he donned this evening, flick the edge of his belt. “Well, go on, then. Show us how it’s done.”

The dragon rose up on his toes and tossed the ball effortlessly over Anduin’s shoulder. With a plop, it landed in the bowl directly in front of them. _Oh great,_ Anduin rolled his eyes, _he’s never going to let me hear the end of it._ The children around them fell silent as the gamekeeper removed the ball and lifted the water directly out of the bowl; the fish, now trapped in the orb, flicked its tail away from his furry paws. “Very skilled throw, Prince Wrathion,” he placed the fish into the dragon’s outstretched hand. 

“Thank you. I try.” He held the orb up to the lantern above them, turning it around in his palm as if trying to get a sense of the magic holding it together. Anduin tilted his head pointedly in the direction of the children, who looked on with eyes wide with awe. “Oh, all right,” he grumbled. Taking a step out from behind the human prince, he held out the orb to the two girls. “For you, my ladies.”

The older pandaren girl gasped; the younger looked as if she would turn and run at any moment. Wrathion flashed a grin that only seemed to exacerbate their apprehension. It quickly fell from his face. “What?” He snapped. “What’s wrong?”

Anduin grimaced, but quickly concealed it with a friendly smile. “It’s all right. You can take it from him,” he nodded to the girls. The older of the two fidgeted, a small smile crossing her lips, and even her younger companion managed to lift her head to look at them. Anduin met their stares with understanding. “Please take good care of it, and remember to feed it every day.”

They nodded solemnly; finally, they took the fish out of Wrathion’s hand. 

“Oh Anduin, everyone’s prince in shining…whatever.” He quipped as they turned away, his fingers reaching down to press against the human’s wrist. 

He shot the dragon a sidelong glance. The pleasant smile disappeared from his lips. “You can stop flirting with me any day now,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, hoping the sound would disappear into the crowd. “I’m being watched.”

“As am I, or so you tell me. I suppose that is but one more thing shared between us.” As the dragon turned to glance over their shoulders, Anduin suddenly became keenly aware of the line of Blacktalon parading behind them. He smiled at ‘Left’ and ‘Right,’ earning a polite nod from the latter. “We will make for the Brewery, if the prince wishes to share a few drinks with me,” he informed them. “Unless he’s feeling shy, in which case, we can leave him to his games.”

“Why would I ‘be feeling shy?’” Anduin rolled his eyes. If the dragon thought teasing was going to deflect some attention from their obvious intimacy, he was sorely mistaken. He couldn’t help but imagine agents returning to his father with a report about how the dragon had first slipped his arm around his waist and _then_ taken it upon himself to point out how flustered he was acting. The very thought made Anduin feel weak in the knees, though that could have been the ache in his injured leg starting to take control. Either way, he was finding it difficult to stand. “I was on my way there when you found me,” he added, a bit too loudly. 

“Really? I never guessed you, _of all people_ , would be rushing down to the bar.”

“It’s not like I’m still a child, or anything,” he sighed, but the sound died on his lips. As a prince, he had often been given a glass of wine at official feasts, but he’d never seen the need to drink to excess, particularly when performing duties under the public gaze. The last thing he needed was to let Wrathion, who would probably think it incredibly amusing if he saw the prince getting a little too tipsy, figure that out. Not that he imagined Wrathion to have all that much experience with these matters, either.

They made their way through the throng of champions and pandaren clustered around the Brewery entrance; As much as Anduin was loath to admit it, he was somewhat thankful that Wrathion had decided to clutch his arm as he struggled around a pack of particularly boisterous orcs with tankards. Once inside, they found their way to a table laden with mugs of every flavor of brew: Anduin selected a golden drink that carried the faint aroma of tropical sunfruit, and Wrathion picked one in a hue comparable to the red of his coin pouch. They paid the barkeep and followed the crowd spilling out onto the terrace. 

“I suppose you’ll be needing me to take that,” Wrathion reached over, prying the beer out of Anduin’s hand. Before he got the chance to protest, the dragon cut him short with a whisper. “Get on the ledge to the right of the door and follow it around to the waterwheel.” As soon as Anduin nodded, he followed up with a much louder, “We wouldn’t want you to spill all over your fine silk robes, after all.”

Anduin was too curious about what his companion might have in mind to let himself get flustered. As soon as they made it out into the night air, he discovered the ledge Wrathion had mentioned, jutting out along the building just over the low lattice rail encircling the space. Hoping his guards had yet to arrive, he snuck over to the fence and used his crutch to step over it. Once on the stone overhang, he scooted around the corner to a concealed portion of the building. 

He would’ve crawled if he didn’t hear the dragon’s graceful footfalls padding along behind him. The edge was narrow and, with the cane, it made it all the more difficult to keep himself standing. He held his breath when he turned a second corner, finding another short ledge positioned just behind the waterwheel to their left. It faced out towards the river, offering a plain view of the field where the fireworks were to be launched at the end of the night. Anduin couldn’t help but smile: Wrathion really did think of everything.

“Ah, here we are,” Wrathion waited until Anduin was fully seated before passing him the tankard. He accepted it, propping it up between his thighs and waiting for the other prince to settle down beside him. Wrathion shifted until their legs touched; Anduin offered a shy smile in response. “Perfect.”

Taking a sip of his beer, Anduin let the cool air from the waterwheel wash over him, grateful both for the breeze and shelter the structure offered as he relaxed against the other man’s body. “It’s nice back here. I’m glad you found it.”

Wrathion murmured appreciatively, swallowing a gulp of liquid from his mug. “My agents found it while everyone was busy at the feast. Lucky for us I only accept rogues with a particularly keen eye.” Anduin let out a small chuckle, but the dragon was undeterred. “But enough about them, my dear prince. Let’s talk instead about how beautiful you look this evening in that fine silk shirt. Blue suits you; you should consider wearing it more often.”

Anduin’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, his hand rattling the beer in his mug as he sat it back down in his lap. “You look really handsome tonight, too,” he mumbled. “I’ve never seen you wear red like that…”

“Oh, this?” Wrathion shot him a sly grin. “I noticed you could barely keep your eyes off me during dinner. I sure _hope_ nobody saw you staring at me with such longing, sweet Anduin.”

Anduin jumped, quickly squeezing his legs together to keep the beer from spilling. “Hey, it was just once!” He demanded, “I-I was just surprised, is all,” but his fidgeting brought him even closer to the dragon’s body, countering every clumsy protest that issued from his mouth. “Just, uh, looking at the honored guests…”

“Mhm, those lies might work on your father, but not on me.” Turning his head to the side, he leaned over, brushing his lips lightly against the human’s skin. Anduin sighed as his kisses moved from his cheek to his mouth, savoring the malty flavor he found there. He parted his own lips, flicking his tongue against Wrathion’s as the dragon reached down and caressed his hand. 

“I have something for you,” he murmured, reaching into his robe for a moment before clicking something cool around Anduin’s wrist. When their lips parted, he looked down to find a white jade bracelet carved into the likeness of two lions encircling his arm. He blushed; his heart clenched in his chest.

“It’s beautiful…” He trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words.

“It reminded me of you.”

Trying to gather his thoughts, Anduin cast his gaze down to the water beneath them. It rippled and churned with each turn of the wheel, fracturing the light of the moon into shards across its surface. The taste of Wrathion’s kiss still clung to his lip. “We’re not a couple, Wrathion. I hope you realize–”

“I never said we were, sweet prince. Don’t put wor–”

Anduin didn’t allow him to finish; the words now flowed unabated from his mouth, falling like water from the wheel beside them. “I have feelings for you, and I know you have feelings for me, too, so don’t even try to deny it. I mean, you’re the first person I’ve ever kissed…ever _been with_ , you know, and I think about you all the time. But we just can’t be together. I’ll have to get married and produce an heir, probably as soon as the war has ended, and you,” _you are a black dragon, the very race that nearly dismantled our dynasty not even a decade ago,_ he thought but couldn’t force himself to add, “you need to save the world from the Legion. If we went public with this–”

Wrathion did the most unexpected thing imaginable: he laughed. Anduin turned to him, eyes wide. “Oh, my dear, dear prince. It’s a pity mortals spoil even the finest of evenings with talk about their ‘feelings.’ I am a black dragon, immortal, already wise beyond my years: Don’t treat me like some lovestruck little boy you’re rejecting at a dance.”

“I…” Anduin couldn’t muster the strength to protest. As much as he once thought, and Wrathion continued to insist, that dragons were unlikely to fall into the trap of infatuation, it was undeniable that he was growing attached to Anduin without heed to reason or circumstance. The thought made the human’s heart pound, but he wasn’t really sure if it was fear or passion that sent the blood rushing through his veins. All he knew was that he didn’t want to put his people in any kind of danger, and secretly, in the back of his mind, couldn’t stand the thought of hurting his companion, either. It was a messy situation, and only clarity and honesty would lighten the burden it placed upon them. 

Finally, after a few shaky breaths, Anduin leaned over and nuzzled Wrathion’s cheek. “I love the bracelet. Thank you. I’m really glad I’m here at this festival with you.”

“Mhm,” Wrathion mumbled, bringing his mug to his lips for another sip of his beer. “I bought candy from the vendors back near Halfhill. It’s in my bag. Feel free to help yourself.”

Anduin knew by now that changing the topic was one of Wrathion’s preferred methods of avoiding delicate conversations, so he took the hint, reaching across the dragon’s lap and plunging a hand into his leather sack. His fingers closed around a carefully wrapped package tied with a silk bow. He untied the string and extracted what felt like a long stick coated in glass.

Bringing it to his lips, he found that the ‘glass’ was actually sugar, and the ‘stick’ beneath it some kind of berry-flavored candy. Wrathion selected what looked to be some kind of rice candy, popping it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “It’s really _such_ a shame your Aunt Jaina missed the festival. And after she spent so much of her life trying to bring the Horde and the Alliance together, too. It seemed like she would be the first person to show up for a gathering like this.

“She was busy,” Anduin replied firmly. He didn’t like where this conversation was headed; the very last thing he needed was for Wrathion to use an otherwise intimate moment to weasel information out of him, particularly information that would lead to a long exposition about the values of war and Jaina ‘finally giving in to reason’ that he had been subjected to several times before. He shook his head, licking the candy in his hand.

“But we all know why Garrosh wasn’t present. He’s making his move back in Orgrimmar. The war is coming, my dear prince, whether you like it or n–” Wrathion’s pause gave way to a snicker. Feeling the dragon’s eyes on him, he turned his head, only to be met by a sly smile and…was that desire? Anduin looked down at the candy he was holding. Oh. His ears burned as he forced himself to look away. “No, please, keep going, my dear prince,” the dragon all but purred. 

“W-wha–” He hurried up and finished the candy, popping the entire thing into his mouth and biting down. Wrathion flinched, but otherwise seemed undeterred. “It’s not like… it’s just,” he mumbled between bites, “It was just a piece of candy, for Light’s sake…”

“And yet I couldn’t help thinking about you using those talents…elsewhere,” Wrathion mused. 

Anduin stared down at the water, taking a huge swig of beer: He wasn’t quite sure if it was to wash down the candy or to distract him from Wrathion’s eyes on his lips, but either way it seemed like a good idea. “It was _blue_ ,” he pointed out after another sip. “Last time I checked, you weren’t a draenei, or–”

“Would you have sex with a draenei, Prince Anduin? Prophet Velen, perhaps?”

“ _What_?” This was too much. It took all of Anduin’s self-control to keep from spitting out his drink. He coughed, looking away. “By the Light, Wrathion. Velen is my mentor. That’s really an embarrassing thing to say.”

“But you _have_ thought about it?”

He shot the dragon an incredulous look. Under the rapidly darkening sky, his red eyes seemed to glitter with excitement. “No.” He insisted. And he was being honest: the very idea of having sex with his teacher, particularly a teacher as ancient and stately as the Prophet, made him feel a bit nauseous. “But I have, well,” he decided that conceding to Wrathion’s teasing with an honest answer about the first comment was better than answering…whatever he was trying to ask here. “I have thought about doing it to you...”

Wrathion raised his eyebrows. Tilting his head to the side, he let out a small laugh, but it did nothing to chase the curiosity from his eyes. “As welcome as that thought is, you are changing the topic again, dear Anduin. You really need to try to be more subtle when you do that, being a man of your station.” The human didn’t even bother to protest. As unnerving as it was, he had grown used to the dragon’s keen perception hindering his every attempt to steer conversations like this one towards easier topics. He gave in, rolling his eyes and taking another drink. 

“But now I am curious. If you were going to have sex with one of the faction leaders, who would it be, if not your esteemed mentor?”

“You,” Anduin replied. He really didn’t see the point to this conversation.

“That’s hardly fair, dear prince. A few weeks ago I would have been flattered, but after all we’ve done together…”

He groaned. “Fine. Fine.” He used the long quaff he poured from his mug into his mouth as an excuse to pause and gather his thoughts. Finally, licking the orange-tinged froth from his lips, he added, “I’m thinking.” 

“Thrall?” 

“What? No!” Anduin sputtered. 

“Then who?”

This clearly wasn’t going to end until he offered some kind of reply. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about other political leaders from time to time, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted to discuss aloud, particularly in the company of…whatever Wrathion was to him. _But that’s probably why he’s doing this, _Anduin realized, thinking back to their previous conversation. If the dragon was doing this to manipulate him or soften him to the idea of discussing ‘forbidden’ relationships again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to rise to the bait. Hopefully a quick reply would silence him and they could move on to easier conversations.__

__Anduin opened his mouth to speak, cursing the flush that rose to his cheeks. “Probably Lor’themar Theron,” he whispered._ _

__Wrathion regarded him with a ‘look,’ stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, so it is a member of the Horde, then.”_ _

__“The Alliance leaders practically raised me,” Anduin supplied. Embarrassed though he was, he wasn’t going to let the dragon use that to take control of the situation. “It feels weird to think about any of them that way. Anyway, what about you?”_ _

__Wrathion answered without hesitation, completely unfazed. “Probably Lor’themar, as well. Or Sylvanas.”_ _

__Anduin must have looked surprised, because Wrathion all but sneered at him, a chuckle clearly trying to escape his pursed lips. “What’s wrong, my dear prince? Don’t look so threatened. I never said I didn’t like women.”_ _

__The human quickly shook his head, not quite sure why he felt so surprised. “But she’s–” Heartless? Cold? A person whose history linked her to the very enemies Wrathion sought to destroy? But really, had he ever expected anything less from the Black Prince, given his interest in such troubling figures as Lei Shen and Garrosh Hellscream? “She’s _dead_ , Wrathion. I’m not even sure she can–”_ _

__“She’s a beautiful woman who knows what she wants and will do anything to get it. You could stand to learn a few things from her, sweet Anduin.”_ _

__He groaned, leaning his head back against the Brewery wall. It took looking up at the stars to realize the beer had started going to his head: the sky seemed a bit fuzzy around the edges, and he felt a slight sway that had absolutely nothing to do with the waterwheel churning beside them. He closed his eyes, but that only made it worse. “I don’t even know what to say to you sometimes.”_ _

__He felt the dragon shrug; After a moment of silence, his hand came to rest on Anduin’s thigh. “Well, just be thankful I didn’t list your father.”_ _

__“Just be thankful I didn’t list yours.”_ _

__As soon as Anduin had snapped his retort, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. He turned his head, meeting the dragon’s stare with a giggle. Wrathion merely shook his head. “Oh no, even if he were still alive I’m sure that fucking one black dragon is all the ‘naughty’ you can handle.”_ _

__The human’s eyes got impossibly wide; the color warming his cheeks yielded to white. Wrathion leaned closer, stroking his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “What? Too blunt for your innocent ears? Don’t knock your cane off the ledge in your embarrassment, Anduin. We wouldn’t want to ‘create a scene.’”_ _

__Flustered though he was, his lips parted under Wrathion’s touch. He flicked his tongue out to meet his clawed thumb, nibbling gently at the skin he tasted there. He was trapped between sober embarrassment and courage spurred on by his beer, simultaneously shocked and playful in ways he couldn’t quite put into words. He giggled sheepishly, but his gesture as he sucked on the dragon’s fingertip was anything but innocent. “Let’s create a scene,” he murmured._ _

__He could have sworn he saw Wrathion blush._ _

__

____

_________________________

Wrathion was starting to think that the third round of beers may have been a mistake. As if getting Anduin around the ledge and back into the Brewery in his current condition hadn’t been difficult enough, they had bumped into a human female who acted a bit too suspicious regarding their condition and the dragon’s clawed fingers clutching her prince’s arm. The last thing he needed was for someone to sound the alarm and drag the two of them into the Alliance camp for questioning. As amusing as it would be to bring up the human’s weak tolerance for drinks next time they argued, the frustration of leading him limping through the crowd was quickly eclipsing any potential humor in the situation.

A trail of white light spiraled over the farms in front of them. Anduin tried to stop, but Wrathion gave his arm an insistent jerk. “You’ve seen enough,” he grumbled. The earth beneath them rumbled, sending the human stumbling into his arms. “Don’t make us drag you home.”

Anduin nodded weakly, resting his head against Wrathion’s shoulder. He was reluctant to admit that the human was larger than him, but the weight of his body pressing against him was making it difficult for Wrathion to walk with any kind of dignity. He glanced over at Left, who took the hint and tried to nudge Anduin into a standing position. “Should I carry him, sir?” She asked, but Wrathion quickly waved his hand in dismissal. 

“No, no, he’s going to walk. Aren’t you, my dear prince?”

Left and Right exchanged glanced; though neither of them chanced saying it, he could tell they thought he was drunk, albeit less so than the bumbling human beside him. But they were wrong…well, mostly. Right’s face seemed a bit out of focus when he nodded in her direction, but that was to be expected beneath the crackling fireworks and the burden of another body leaning against his side. No, he was as clear-headed as always, and didn’t appreciate the knowing looks being cast in his direction.

“As you wish, your Highness.” Another guard– a worgen, Duncan, or some such name– came up behind Anduin and tugged him into a fully vertical position. Anduin scrambled to take a step forward, as if the worgen’s paw against his neck to remind him that he was supposed to be walking, but nearly tripped over a clump of grass. 

“Don’t _ever_ touch him without my permission,” Wrathion snapped, ignoring the tiny ‘s’okay’ Anduin mumbled under his breath and pushing his way between them. He threaded his arm around the human’s waist, forgetting his previous struggles with this task in a burst of protectiveness. “What are we going to do with you, Prince Anduin?”

Anduin grinned sloppily. “Oh, I think you know…”

Wrathion shot him a warning look. Oblivious to his reaction, the human continued to beam back at him, clearly proud of his ridiculous attempt to sound seductive. Wrathion couldn’t help himself; he cracked a smile. Well, at least he would have embarrassing stories to tell the prince in the morning, he assured himself.

They made their way through the field surrounding the Alliance campsite, following the hedge of a farm growing giant pumpkins until the silhouette of the royal tents, jutting over the others with a proud lion banner capping each peak, came into view. Luckily the fireworks booming overhead seemed to have most of the patrols distracted. No one turned from their posts as the cluster of rogues and princes inched along the hedge just beyond the camp’s border.

“When we get to the yak farm, Anduin and I will sneak to his tent. You, worgen,” he pointed to the rogue who had grabbed Anduin, “hide yourself somewhere around the farm. You should be able to see the tent from there. And you,” he pointed to the other agent, a night elf, “You watch the door from that outcropping of rocks to the south. Do not attack unless my life is in jeopardy. _Do I make myself clear?_ ” They both assented with a bow. 

He then turned to Left and Right, addressing them with slightly less formality than he had used on the other agents. “Return to my tent. Guard it as if I am present. Tell the others that Operation White Crane is in effect. Patrol the camps. See if anything seems…off.” They nodded, saying nothing. “I will be staying with the prince tonight _to sleep_ ,” he stressed, wanting to be clear that he wasn’t planning to take advantage of Anduin in his impaired state. “Nobody else must know. Plant stories about my arrival back at the tent if you must. I don’t care, just keep my whereabouts private.”

Left responded with a grunt. Right shot Anduin a look before accepting her orders. Wrathion was aware that she thought they should just hand Anduin over to his own guards and return without fuss to their campsite, but he knew how that would end for the human prince. If Varian realized his son had gotten this drunk, much less with a black dragon, he wouldn’t let him out of the keep for months. There would be increased surveillance until the end of the festival, increased investigation, and more patrols haunting Wrathion’s every step. No. He knew better than Right. This was the only way, and nobody was going to tell him otherwise. He regarded them with a long stare, letting them know that he had no plans to relent, quelling dissent with a flash of his narrowed eyes. 

“For those of you worrying that we will not arrive without incident, I invite you to create some kind of distraction. Release a yak. Shoot an arrow into one of those carrots,” he gestured towards the field to their right. “Surprise me.”

“Understood.” Good, they were going to cooperate, after all.

Giving Anduin’s waist a squeeze, he used his free hand to point towards the royal tents. “I hope you can walk the rest of the way on your own. Listen to me, and we won’t get caught.” With that, he shifted into his dragon form, crawling up his arm and curling into a ball against his collar. If sober, Anduin would have likely teased him for this (for some reason? It wasn’t like _he_ could change his form, much less appear as a fierce black dragon), but in his drunken state he merely nodded and knit his brows in determination. 

“All right,” Wrathion whispered. “Go.” 

The trek was a bit bumpy: Anduin’s hindered gait coupled with the dragging footfalls of intoxication led to a few blunders along the way, but they still made it over to the campsite border in less than a minute. Behind them, he heard one of the yaks let out a low bellow. It rammed against the fence and broke out into the field. As he had expected, the guards around the camp all turned and ran in that direction. He nudged Anduin out of the shadows with a light nip of his neck: this was their opening.

He had never been so thankful for Alliance negligence. If the Horde had only realized how distractible they were the camp wouldn’t have survived an hour. He ‘tsked’ lightly but said nothing: Anduin needed to worry about getting into his tent, not wasting time coming up with some less-than-witty remark to hurl at him in retort. 

A loud firework erupted overhead. Startled, Anduin tripped forward against his tent, knocking the loose stake out of the ground completely and leaving the bottom edge flapping in the breeze. Wrathion flew from his shoulder and ducked under the fabric; once inside, he transformed, loosened the entrance flap, and all but yanked the human inside. “Heh, clumsy. Don’t hurt yourself again.”

Anduin mumbled something incoherent in response. Wrathion took his hand and guided him over to the edge of the bed, trying his best to keep him in an upright position when the back of his legs hit the mattress. “All right,” he clapped his hands together. “Lucky for you, I have seen my fair share of drunk champions. I have never deigned to interfere myself, but your you, my dear prince, I will make an exception.” 

He glanced over at the makeshift nightstand, cracking a smile when he saw a jug full of water waiting for him at the back. He walked over and filled a glass. “First, drink this. You will thank me when you wake up.” Anduin nodded, seemingly too confused to protest. 

After thrusting the glass into the human’s hand, Wrathion leaned down to take off his shoes. “When you start coming down from this you will probably overheat. Is it all right if I take off your clothes? It’s nothing I haven’t seen already, so don’t worry about feeling shy.”

Anduin nodded again. Wrathion untied his second boot, letting it fall to the floor beside the other, and moving up onto his knees to work on the buckle of Anduin’s pants. The human prince watched with wide eyes: his cheeks glowed pink, but Wrathion wasn’t quite sure if it was shame, alcohol, or…something else that warmed them to a blush. 

It wasn’t long, however, until he got his answer. As he unhooked the last button on his trousers, he felt Anduin’s fingers snaking through the back of his hair and giving him a not-so-subtle nudge into his lap. He pushed back, meeting Anduin’s smile with a glare. “No.” 

“But–” 

“No,” Wrathion repeated himself, rising up slightly to start in on the hooks at Anduin’s collar. “You ruined your chances for that tonight, dear Anduin, when you decided to drink your weight in beer.”

He could tell Anduin was preparing for another protest but managed to stifle his words with a chaste kiss. “Perhaps tomorrow. I trust you won’t feel like drinking for a while after this.”

“Mhm.”

Shaking his head, Wrathion unhooked his pauldrons and tossed them to the side. After undoing a few more buttons, he got the tunic over Anduin’s head and placed it on top of the growing pile of clothes on the ground beside the bed. He knew they probably should be folded but would leave that for the servants in the morning. Oh. Servants. That’s right. He looked up at Anduin. “Do your servants wake you up in the morning?”

“Not since I was twelve…”

“Okay, fantastic,” he rose to his feet and started undoing the knotted clasps of his robe; he found himself fumbling slightly, unfamiliar with this style of fastening. Anduin regarded him with a sleepy stare.

“I love you.”

He froze. The hand on his bottom clasp dropped to his side. He laughed, but the sound was hollow and mirthless. “Someone is trying to confuse me tonight, I see. Excellent work, Prince Anduin…”

“But I really do love you.”

“And I’m sure you hate yourself for it, too.” He had meant it as a joke, but it stung on his lips despite every attempt to keep it lighthearted. He shook his head, more for himself than for Anduin, and finished his work on the last clasp. “Mortals are ridiculous. Come on, finish the water and get in bed.”

Anduin watched him with shining eyes, but didn’t push the issue any further. He took another gulp from his glass, managing to get ‘most’ of the water into his mouth, before setting it aside on the table beside him. Wrathion extinguished the lamp and slid under the blanket. As soon as his head met the pillow, he felt Anduin making a grab for the front of his pants. He caught his wrist, pinning it down on the mattress between them. “No,” he insisted, trying his best not to squirm. “Not tonight.”

The human groaned but didn’t push the issue. Easing up his hold on his arm, he interlaced their fingers and held his hand against his chest. “And Anduin?” He closed his eyes.

“Mmh?”

“Do _not_ vomit on me.”

Anduin giggled; Wrathion didn’t know whether to laugh or to groan. 

He only hoped the other prince would still be laughing about it in the morning.

_________________________

When the morning reports had reached Varian’s desk, he had found himself, for once, at a loss for words. Over twenty fights between Alliance and Horde champions, a trashed Kirin Tor campsite, and three barrels of supplies stolen from one of the guard stations– and all of this had happened before midnight. He was loath to consider the damages that had occurred during the early morning hours.

But it wasn’t this news that troubled him. Amber Kearnen had arrived before dawn with a report on Anduin’s behavior during the festival, explaining that he had disappeared sometime before the twentieth hour and reappeared, drunk and in the company of a certain black dragon, around the Brewery several hours later. He had clenched his fists on his desk as he listened to the report, unable to believe that his best agents had let Anduin escape without coming to alert him immediately, particularly with characters like the ‘Black Prince’ prowling around. He could have taken Anduin hostage…or worse. Varian couldn’t bear to consider the possibilities.

And thus he had taken a break from his morning meetings to go check on his son. The Darkspear emissary would be arriving in an hour, but he knew that worrying about Anduin’s safety would only serve to put him in the wrong frame of mind for negotiations. He needed to focus, and he wasn’t going to be able to do so until he saw his son safe and unharmed.

He arrived at the front of the tent. Gesturing to his guard to wait outside, he opened the lacings, quietly, careful to avoid clanking his armor in the process. There was no sign of a disturbance, though Anduin had left a sloppy pile of clothing on the ground beside the bed. He shook his head, taking another step closer. 

Anduin’s blonde hair poked out from under his blanket, tousled and sweaty, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. Satisfied, Varian was about to turn and leave. But then something else caught his eye. A clawed hand spread out over Anduin’s shoulder, dark against his pale skin, and the outline of another body could be seen poking up beneath the cover. Varian stared in disbelief.

He had known his son was spending time with this ‘Wrathion,’ but no. Not like this. Anduin knew better than to give in to a dragon’s tricks. He must have taken advantage of him in his drunken state: this was probably some elaborate plot to bring him under his control. Varian reached for Shalamayne, his hand clattering against the hilt with barely-suppressed rage.

At that moment, Anduin opened his eyes. Hearing the clang of metal behind him, he turned his head and met Varian with a groggy stare. “…Father?”

Varian cleared his throat: It was all he could do to keep from shouting. 

The haze in Anduin’s stare seemed to lift, and recognition, then shock, and then horror took its place. He looked down at Wrathion, who was likewise starting to stir, and then back to his father, his mouth gaping open in what looked like a wordless cry. Varian followed his stare to the sword; much to his surprise, Anduin clutched the dragon’s head possessively to his chest. “Father…I-I can explain…”

The sound of Anduin’s voice, cracking and shaking, seemed to shake the dragon from his rest. He turned his head, a single glowing eye peeking out from against the other prince’s skin. That eye shot open. Varian couldn’t help but think of Deathwing, and the stories he had heard about him stirring in his chains. It took all of his strength to keep from running the beast through with his sword. But something…the silent tears in his son’s voice or the equally-worried expression on the dragon’s face– barely more than a child’s face, though Varian refused to entertain that thought– stilled his hand. He exhaled.

“Get dressed and come to my tent. Alone. Get this dragon out of here.” 

With that, Varian turned and pushed his way through the canvas door.

_________________________


	2. Chapter 2

_________________________

No. Nonononono. This couldn’t be happening.

Anduin all but fell out of bed, silently praying that this was some kind of alcohol-induced nightmare, if that was even possible. He couldn’t remember having any dreams that night; he only remembered waking up once or twice, drenched in sweat, and fumbling blindly in the dark for his water. But the world beneath him seemed to tilt and, watching his father’s back disappear out the door, he knew that this was too tangible…too immediate…to be anything but real. Reaching down for his cane, his hand slipped, pushing him face-first into the mattress. 

He winced. Wrathion reached out an arm to steady him.

Blood rushed to his head, a dull humming that seemed to haunt the corners of his vision; the blue-tinged light of the sun beating down on his tent felt too bright, too large for him to focus. Why had he let Wrathion undress him? Why hadn’t he stopped him from coming back to the tent? Why had he drank _so much_ and let himself get so…ridiculous? He was ashamed, worried, and, worst of all, nauseous at the very thought of walking out the door. With these thoughts pounding between his eyes it took all his strength to resist crawling back under the blankets and hiding his face for a few more hours. But he knew sleep wouldn’t come, not while he felt like this. 

Just beyond the flap, now whipping back and forth in the wind, weapons and armor clanked together in what sounded like some kind of scuffle. Anduin stopped fumbling with his pants for a moment and followed Wrathion’s gaze to the front of the tent. “Finally,” he hissed, but Anduin noticed that his voice lacked its usual confidence. 

After a notably loud clash, ‘Left’ and another Blacktalon agent Anduin didn’t recognize hurried through the door. “Your Highness,” the other agent, a human, bowed, while Left doubled back and took to guarding the door. “We came as soon as we saw–”

“Not soon enough,” the dragon pointed out, the edge quickly returning to his voice. 

The guard tensed but said nothing. Left offered a grunt of assent; it seemed that she had already anticipated this response. 

Taken aback by their sudden appearance, Anduin had lost track of his thoughts. But as he looked down at himself, realizing that his tunic was still unbelted and his boots were still a yard or so away from the bed, he felt his stomach clench. The Blacktalons had done something to his guards to get in here, and, to top it off, they had caught him partially-dressed and too flustered to speak. Of all of the conflicts to become a public affair, this had to be the worst.

“Should my guards accompany you to your father’s tent?” he dimly heard the dragon say from the bed beside him. 

He whirled around, forgetting to finish sliding his belt through the buckle in his surprise. “What? No, Wrathion, don’t…” _‘do what you always do and try to flaunt your power to get what you want,’_ he thought but didn’t have the energy to argue. Squeezing his eyes closed to block out the light, he tried again. “It would be better if you just go, okay? I need to sort this out with my father…”

When he opened his eyes again, he found Wrathion regarding him with an intense stare. Great. This was exactly what he didn’t need right now: to have not one but _both_ of the most volatile people in his life ready to snap, all while he was nursing his first hangover and parsing through the list of embarrassing things he had done last night. There was one exchange in particular that stood out in his mind; he shuddered, not even knowing how to apologize for what he had said. How could such hazy words stand out so clearly in the morning?

He forced his expression to soften, drawing in a deep breath. “Wrathion, I’m…really sorry about last night,” he averted his eyes. His free hand found Wrathion’s shoulder; the dragon reached up to touch his fingers. “Thank you, for everything. I’ll come talk to you after I’m done here, and we’ll figure this out …”

Studying his face, he realized that what had at first looked like anger was something else entirely– frustration, yes, but even more than that, concern. Wrathion was afraid for him. The insight stripped him of any irritation he felt towards the dragon and gave way to something else entirely: sadness. It sunk like a weight in his chest. Wrathion thought that Varian was going to hurt him; Anduin didn’t even know how to respond to such a profound misunderstanding of his father’s love. “…It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, giving his shoulder another squeeze. 

“…Of course. No need to coddle me, Prince Anduin. I was merely trying to comfort you.”

Anduin had no desire to argue, certain of what he had seen. He finished putting on his last boot and limped towards the door, only to be greeted by a pack of guards running in his direction. He offered a small wave and an even smaller smile. “Hey, it’s okay, we’re all fine here. Please let Prince Wrathion and his guards exit under your protection.”

A few of the soldiers looked ready to charge past him, but luckily nobody ignored his order. “Yes, your Highness.” The woman at the head of the group, a human named Sandra, gave a salute that would have normally made him blush. But this morning, for once, he was happy to have a bit of power at his disposal.

“Thank you,” the smile fell from his lips as soon as he turned away. The walk to his father’s tent seemed to take an eternity, and yet it didn’t quite feel long enough. He had no idea what he would find when he arrived or how his father would react to him after what he had seen; between Anduin’s age, Wrathion’s gender, and the sheer fact that he had found his son in bed with another person, Varian probably would have been troubled enough even without the whole “black dragon” issue looming in the background. His father had gotten better lately, but would this be enough to push him back over the edge? Anduin couldn’t bear to think about it. His stomach, already rumbling, clenched as he walked past his father’s sentries.

Once inside the tent, he waited for his father’s permission to approach. A small ‘hallway’ opened into a larger room, with Varian’s table positioned in the center. The king stared down into a steaming cup of tea, barely lifting his eyes to where Anduin waited. He nodded. Anduin couldn’t help but notice how tired his father looked.

Taking the seat opposite of him, Anduin waited, clasping his hands together in his lap. He felt the bracelet Wrathion had given him slide down to brush against his thumb, cool against his flushed skin. He shoved it up his sleeve. Varian drew in an audible breath. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No!” Anduin had hoped his voice would sound a bit less desperate, but when he opened his mouth he found that he could only squeak out his responses. “W-we didn’t even, last night, you know…”

“But you have?”

“Well,” Anduin bit his lip. There was no point in lying to his father now. “A few times…”

“Anduin.” Of all the responses, he had been completely unprepared for this. His father’s face was etched with worry, sharp lines marring skin already striped by scars. His eyes, usually clear and sharp, had dulled with worry, and his lips were set in a deep frown. He looked concerned, but even more than that, he looked disappointed. Anduin quelled beneath his stare. 

“I’m sorry, father,” he mumbled. His headache had returned in full force, throbbing behind his eyes and shrouding the world around him in a haze. All he could feel was his own heart hammering and his father’s disappointed eyes studying his face. He felt sick, in every sense of the word. “I know I should have told you, but–” 

Varian exhaled. “Just so we’re clear, Anduin, I have no issue with you courting males. If you can’t take a female wife, we will figure out some way to make it work. I will not let you be forced into an unhappy relationship.”

“Oh, thank you…” Anduin chanced a glance up to his father’s face, trying to muster a smile. But Varian’s intensity hadn’t lessened; Anduin immediately looked away.

“But a black dragon?” The king’s voice rose. Beneath the table, Anduin felt his legs starting to shake. “Anduin, you know better than that. What were you thinking?”

Anduin closed his eyes, reaching down into himself and connecting with the Light, warm and soothing to his shattered nerves. After a few deep breaths, he managed to respond with some semblance of calm. “He deserves a fair chance, just like everyone else.”

The king’s hand clattered against the handle of his tea cup. “A fair chance? Anduin, we’re giving him a ‘fair chance.’ If we weren’t, we would have dragged him away from Ravenholdt in chains the moment we discovered that Deathwing had an heir. Don’t think we didn’t discuss it.” He could tell his father’s ire was on the rise; each word seemed to burn on his tongue, his voice growing louder and more disgusted with each breath. It was clear to Anduin that at least some small part of his father wished that they had done exactly that, though he knew he would never say that to him. 

“But instead we have given him peace, have let him work undisturbed, and even watched him assemble an army of mercenaries against all of our best judgment. But that doesn’t mean I have to let him court my son!”

_But I’m an adult now. You can’t stop me,_ Anduin wanted to retort, but couldn’t find it in his heart to do so. Overprotective as he was, his father loved him, and after losing so much in his life, much of it to the black dragons themselves, it was no surprise that the king had become so protective of him. But that also didn’t mean that Anduin had to back down. Instead, he summoned up the levelheaded strength he had cultivated during his time in Pandaria, lifting his eyes to meet his father’s stare. “Please don’t worry for me, father. I know what I’m doing.”

“Anduin,” his father sighed again. This time, Anduin resisted the urge to flinch. “This is what they _do_. They have done it for generations, finding their way into positions of power through cunning and intrigue and using it to dismantle us from within. I shouldn’t have to bring up Katrana Prestor...”

At the mention of his former advisor, Anduin’s calm faltered. “He _hates_ them,” he insisted; his hands in his lap dripped with sweat. “Deathwing, and Onyxia, and Nefarian…he despises them even more than we do. He’s spent his whole life trying to undo the problems they’ve caused. He’d sooner die than identify with that family’s legacy, I promise…”

“Or that is part of his deception, and he knows he can’t visibly support their work if he wishes to take their place beside an Alliance prince,” Anduin felt his cheeks burn at his father’s assertion, but he wasn’t sure if it was shame or anger that brought color to his face. “Or the madness has yet to take hold in him, and this is one last attempt to fight his fate before he plummets into villainy and destruction.” 

Anduin must have looked ready to protest, because Varian continued before he had the chance to respond: “Or his madness is of a different sort, but Anduin, he isn’t _right_. Every report we have on him speaks to his extreme views, his volatile personality, and his disposition towards meddling: Reports that you, on several occasions, have confirmed. He is a bomb headed towards explosion. You know it, and I know it.”

Anduin’s heart sank. He wanted to argue, but he knew, somewhere, beneath the layers of compassion, desire, and…love he felt for the dragon, that what his father said was true. Wrathion was a troubled person, and Anduin had often found himself questioning his choices. The dread seeping into his chest has every bit as much to do with his own observations as with his father’s astute comments about his misgivings. He couldn’t even bring himself to shake his head. “Wrathion is confused and in pain, even though he tries to hide it. He is immature and makes misguided choices, but he isn’t…evil. I swear to the Light he isn’t evil.” 

Varian’s frown deepened, all traces of anger fading from his voice. “You’re a good person, Anduin. Our people love you because they feel the Light’s mercy through you. But sometimes you forget that the world is darker and crueler than you ever will be. I worry for you.”

Anduin looked away; a ball of emotions rose in his throat. He didn’t think he was being foolish in opening up to Wrathion– he knew the risks, and had considered each of them at length– but somehow hearing his father question him unsettled him in ways he couldn’t quite explain. “I’m not as naïve as you think I am,” he mumbled, meeker than he had intended, “Just because I’m not a warrior like you–”

“That isn’t what I said, Anduin. You know I respect your beliefs.”

Their conversation yielded to silence. The cup of tea between them had long since stopped steaming, abandoned in the wake of a particularly painful moment. Anduin fidgeted in his chair, wiping his palms on his tunic and staring down at his lap in an attempt to find his voice. Varian continued to regard him with tired eyes; the frown on his lips and the blue light of the tent casting shadows across his face aged him beyond his years. The sound of his staggered breaths was like a knife to Anduin’s chest. This was difficult for both of them, and Anduin saw no easy way to assuage the tension, frustration, and concern haunting the space between them.

When Varian spoke again, it was in strained resignation. “I… cannot deal with this right now, Anduin. The meeting this morning may change the history of Azeroth forever. I have to put aside personal matters and be king to my people.”

“I’m sorry…”

Varian shook his head. “Bring your dragon to me tonight and we will resume this discussion over dinner. You are an adult and I trust you, but I am still your father. I will attempt to understand and respect your choices but I can’t promise not to worry.”

“I…I know.” He reached a trembling hand across the table to pat the king’s bracer. A ghost of a smile crossed Varian’s face. “Thank you, father.”

_________________________

Wrathion was not in the mood to deal with guards. The group who had been charged with escorting him and his agents to the front of the Alliance camp conferred with the sentries stationed at the entrance, periodically shooting him curious stares from inside the cluster of white and blue. Smoothing out the front of his tunic, he returned their stares with a glare that spoke to his impatience. He turned to Right, whispering without any effort to stay quiet: “Well, if the Alliance put this much energy into fighting their battles, Azeroth would be in a very different position right now.” Right nodded obligingly.

Finally, one of the soldiers, a woman with intense brown eyes and skin a few shades darker than Wrathion’s, broke away from the group and approached the prince and his followers. She nodded curtly. Oh, she was one of the guards who used to accompany Anduin to the Tavern, Wrathion realized with a start. He wordlessly chided himself for not recognizing her sooner. “Ah, yes, Sandra, was it? I am sure you understand that I’m very busy this morning, and I must be heading on my way as soon as possible. As always, we mean you and your Alliance no harm.”

The faintest hint of a smile crossed her lips. “Understood, Prince Wrathion,” the smile yielded to stoicism. “But we are to file a report on your activities here. After a few simple questions we will send you and your agents on your way. I am sure you understand the need for disclosure.”

Wrathion let out a ‘hmph;’ Sandra seemed to take this as a sound of assent, because she continued, “We need to know why you broke in to the campsite this morning and why you allowed your guards to attack an Alliance soldier.”

Fantastic. Not only did he have to deal with questions, but now they were pressuring him for answers that their own king probably wouldn’t want him voicing. The last thing he needed was to put Anduin in an even worse position with his father, particularly after he and his guards had been expelled from the camp. He set his lips into a scowl, “I was merely visiting your prince, as I am wont to do. My agents attempted to approach the tent, and your soldiers attacked them. Any further questions should be directed to King Wrynn.”

Sandra raised her eyebrows. Oh, yes, he had forgotten: Alliance soldiers, even those who had been charged with watching the prince, could not simply approach the king at will and engage him in a discussion. This level of formality had always struck Wrathion as strange: It was natural to demand respect from one’s employees, but another thing entirely to inhibit communication through a rigid chain-of-command. Just one more area in which Alliance bureaucracy obstructed efficient action, he noted. 

Dropping the previous question, Sandra started on a new topic. “About how many minutes would you say you and your agents spent within the Alliance camp?”

“Oh, I have been here all night,” he shrugged. Sandra’s eyes widened, but she quickly concealed it with nod. “My guards were merely coming to retrieve me, you see.”

“I…see.” The pause in Sandra’s words was a pregnant one. If she had failed to notice the looks exchanged between himself and the prince at the Tavern, the way he had so often made Anduin blush with playful comments passed across the jihui table, she seemed to finally connect the dots. Wrathion’s patience gave way to curiosity as he waited for her response. 

“Yes, that will be all,” she snapped back into a stance of ‘attention.’ “You and your agents are free to pass.”

“Wonderful. Send the king my regards.” With that, he breezed past the soldiers, Left, Right, and a string of four other agents in tow, none of them paying the Alliance sentries more than a passing glance. It never ceased to amaze him how flustered the humans would get at even the faintest hint of sexuality, but in this case it had worked to his advantage. He, luckily, hadn’t even needed to elaborate to make Sandra uncomfortable enough to let him go. He doubted she would mention anything about it to her superior officer, which was, in Wrathion’s opinion, the best possible outcome.

Anduin, too, had been known to act flustered when it came to discussing their relationship. But when he did it, it was…charming, to say the least. A faint smile twitched at the corners of Wrathion’s lips as he remembered Anduin’s face flushing with color, his words tumbling out in a startled mixture of discomfort and pleasure, the first time Wrathion had reached for him. His eyes had widened far beyond their size and his bottom lip had trembled ever-so-slightly as he chewed on it with his upper teeth. It took a lot for Wrathion to refer to something as ‘cute,’ but that scene had warranted such a ridiculous adjective.

His thoughts now firmly fixed on Anduin once more, Wrathion couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern. He imagined the conversation that was likely taking place between the prince and his father, wondering if Anduin blushed as the king drilled him on the nature of their affair. Rather than being ‘cute,’ the face he saw was fearful and charmlessly uncomfortable, a face that made Wrathion want to turn around and force his way right back into the camp. 

Wrathion knew he was more like Varian than his son would ever be. While Anduin put his faith in ‘hope’ and the presumed goodness of every living being, Varian would be quick not only to worry that Anduin might fall prey to injury through deception, but also to consider other possible disturbances their relationship might cause: Political unrest, threats to the Wrynn line, and, above all, one more reason for the Horde to view Anduin as weak. For all Anduin’s protests about their “non-relationship,” they always boiled down to “father will be angry” or “but you’re a black dragon,” and never “our involvement together might tear apart the Alliance from the inside out.” Reality would crash down around him; the light of promise that glowed in his eyes would start to wane. Wrathion had always criticized Anduin for being too naïve, but now the image of his optimism being stomped out by his father made the dragon want to fly to his rescue. 

And yet, he and his guards kept moving; they followed the road until they came to Halfhill, moving south towards the neutral campsite. Wrathion had resolved to put his duty to Azeroth above personal satisfaction, and, though he was loath to consider how the king might construe it, he knew that Varian realized this just as much as he did. Like it or not, Anduin would have to learn eventually; he only wished it didn’t have to be today.

_I love you._ Anduin had whispered; Wrathion cursed his heart for quickening as a memory they likely didn’t share came flashing through his mind. Love was the last thing they needed. Love, pleasant and warm and as optimistic as Anduin’s eyes when he leaned in for a kiss, would be the spark that brought about their undoing.

And yet, a ‘spark’ it was nonetheless. 

Wrathion continued to follow this train of thought as they passed the lone guard station at the head of the neutral camp and made their way towards his tent. It stood out among the plain Shado-Pan tents flanking it on both sides, draped with an array of fabrics he had gathered from silk traders traveling to Kun-Lai. Its hues of gold and lavender marked it, like the Blacktalon sentry stationed outside, as unmistakably his, shimmering with stately glory beneath the sun. His confidence, shaken after his mistake with Varian, started to return.

“I will change into something more suitable before we venture back into town,” he explained. Left and Right nodded at once, turning to the guards behind them and directing them to places around the perimeter of the tent. 

Seeing that everyone was in place, he opened the curtain hanging over the front of the tent and ducked his head beneath it. The silk fell closed behind him; he stared in horror at the scene he found beneath the purple light. 

A dragon toy hung on a rope from the center beam, painted black and splattered with what looked like some kind of animal blood. On the fabric at the back of the tent, the same blood had been used to scrawl “Slay the Dragon” in Orcish. The dragon swung slightly, rocked by a gust from the closing curtains.

Wrathion froze; his heart all but stilled in his chest. He had to clench his hands into fists at his sides to keep them from shaking, unsure whether it was fear or anger that rattled him, only able to hope for the sake of his dignity that it was the latter. 

After a pause flooded by a wave of nausea rising from his stomach to his face, he finally opened his mouth to speak. Reaching behind him, he cracked the curtain ever-so-slightly and gasped out an order: “Right, Left, get in here.” His voice sounded far too strained; he cursed the saliva building in his mouth, hoping nobody outside heard him falter. The last thing he needed was his entire guard piling in to witness this atrocity. “And close the curtain…” 

Left arrived first. Staring over Wrathion’s shoulder, she seemed at a loss for words, only able to grab for her crossbow and point it at unspecified points around the room. Right came in behind them; a gasp escaped her lips. “What is this?”

“What do you think?” The question had been a rhetorical one, but that didn’t stop him from wishing that one of them would supply him with an explanation other than ‘somebody threatening you’ or ‘making a joke at your expense.’ But they merely stood there in silence, chancing a few uneasy glances in his direction. 

He growled; rage became an easy mask for the pangs gnawing at the pit of his chest. “Who trusted that fool outside to guard the tent on his own?” Again, neither of them responded, though this time he assumed the motive for their silence was very different than before. He gathered his wits and stomped forward, tugging the dragon down from the beam. “Half his pay. I won’t stand for such negligence among my elite. And make him clean up this mess when I leave.” 

“Yes, sir.” Their response was immediate, but they seemed all the more hesitant to say more than a few words. 

He sank down on his bed, facing away from the offending scrawl. The blood caking the dragon started to smudge off onto his palms, mingling with sweat and staining them a deep burgundy. He stared down. The toy they had used was some kind of metal construction of Orcish make, once red but now swathed over with sloppy onyx paint. _Of course, no one would make a black dragon and give it to their child._ But a _red_ dragon of all things only added insult to injury. He scratched his claws against the painted surface, the heavy feeling returning to his mouth. 

“Should we investigate King Varian’s involvement, sir?” Left suggested, but he shook his head in adamant protest. 

“Clearly not.” His bodyguards were trying his patience more than usual today, but he wasn’t sure if that was on their end, or his. “He wouldn’t go to such lengths to frame the orcs, even if he were given to making these kinds of threats.” Which he wasn’t, not by a long shot. Varian Wrynn cared far too much for lofty notions of ‘honor’ and ‘honesty’ to pull this stunt; He would sooner march into the tent and execute Wrathion on the spot than taunt him with some messy toy. No matter how angry he was over what he had seen this morning, he would never stoop to this level. Wrathion took some small measure of comfort in that.

But if not Varian, then who? As far as he knew, he had done nothing especially offensive to the orcs as of late. He had rewarded his orc champions with treasures equal to those of his other champions, and had even sung the praises of Garrosh’s ferocity until both Anduin and his guards seemed ready to burst with frustration. Although he had spent a fair amount of time considering the ramifications of supporting Hellscream in the war, this was no different than his treatment of Varian or anyone else. He had been so careful to keep his thoughts to himself: Who would want to oppose him so violently?

Looking back down at his hands, his thoughts strayed towards the other logical conclusion, but he refused to entertain it. Surely no one would scorn him, after he had tirelessly killed his own family, simply for being alive. He couldn’t bear to consider it; His hands quaked, and he let the dragon toy drop to the floor.

“Let…” His voice sounded too small, too pained. He took a deep breath and began again. “Send agents to mingle with the Horde and quell any resentment towards me they encounter. Tell them that we have reason to believe that there are dissenters among the orcs, but say no more than that. Understood?”

They nodded; he looked away. 

“Send that elf in here to clean up this mess and make it _clear_ to him that if anyone else learns of this affront it will be on his head. I am entirely serious: No one must know.”

They nodded again; he bit his bottom lip in spite of himself.

Between waking up to an angry Varian and this…whatever this was, Wrathion wasn’t sure his day could get any worse.

_________________________

Listening to a stream of Old Pandaren being chanted by a group of deep-voiced shamans had relaxed him even though he couldn’t understand the words, and he was finally feeling the tension in his shoulders ease up. The Tillers had generously allowed him to sit on a stone near the altar, and he waited on the sidelines as worshipers pressed incense sticks into bowls full of sand. Each pandaren bowed in turn, and some slipped coins into a slotted box.

In addition to pandaren from various regions, a fair number of tauren (including Dezco), orcs, and trolls were in attendance. He also spotted a few draenei shamans among the crowd, but he was the only human present at the ritual and the Alliance races were vastly outnumbered. In spite of that, none of the attendees regarded him with anything more than casual courtesy. A few had even nodded to him when he rose from his seat and made his way to the back of the queue. 

In his free hand, he clutched three sticks of incense he had purchased on his way to the outdoor shrine: One blue, one black, and one white. 

He fidgeted as he waited his turn, worried that he would somehow do something wrong and offend the people who honored these spirits. He tried his best to walk quietly; he memorized their movements, praying to the Light and whoever else would listen that he wasn’t missing some key step in what seemed like a fairly straightforward practice. The shamans had assured him before the ritual that his prayers would be welcomed regardless of his religious affiliations, and he couldn’t bear the thought of letting them down.

When it was his turn, he limped carefully forward, pausing in front of the bowl at the center of the altar. The shaman beside him nodded and held out a flame in her furry paw. He bowed, and she responded. He passed the first stick, the blue one, carefully through the flame, blew it out, and pressed it down in to the sand. A trail of smoke snaked through the air and faded into the fragrant fog above.

He closed his eyes; the heavy scent wrapped him in its embrace. _Blessed Light, and honored spirits of the earth, I thank you for the many blessings you bring to us. Thank you for bringing us together here and for blessing this community with your warmth and abundance._ He smiled to himself, giving in to the heat around him. _Please bless my father. Please help him to understand that I care about him and don’t want him to be unhappy with me. Please show him that I am not trying to hurt him…_

He raised his head for a moment, passing the black stick through the fire and pressing it down beside the blue one. _Blessed Light and honored spirits of the earth,_ he began again. His heart felt light and joyful: a bliss he had only found in moments of prayer. His mind was clear, and all doubts disappeared with the smoke. _Please protect Wrathion. Please help him see how much I care about him, even if it is difficult for us to be together. Show him the right way; please help him understand that he doesn’t have to give in to madness. Please help him find love and warmth, and to never fall in to despair. He means so much to me…please guide him and protect him.”_

By the time Anduin made it to the third stick, his heart and body seemed to tingle with the sensations swelling around him: The brightness of the sun, the spiced aroma of smoke drifting above him, and the cool stability of the earth beneath his feet. He could only smile and yield to the peace welling up inside, a trance that drove away all doubts, regrets, and pain like a candle chasing away the shadows at night. He bowed once more, adding, _Blessed Light, and honored spirits of the earth, please accept these prayers and my thanks to you. Please protect me, and help me to do the right thing. Show me how best to honor you and help those I love. Thank you…_

He stuck the last of these reeds between the other two, watching their streams dance and swirl together, free and lighthearted, fading into the summer heat. He returned to his seat with a new presence of mind and clarity devoid of the nausea that had plagued him all morning.

After all of the worshipers had had their turn at the altar, the air erupted into the jubilant clanging of gongs and whistle of the bamboo flute. The atmosphere shifted from reverence to celebration, and the crowd began its procession back down the road to Halfhill. Dezco dropped back from a cluster of tauren to walk beside him; Anduin greeted him with a smile.

“I was pleased to see you in the crowd, Prince Anduin. Did you enjoy the ritual?”

He nodded. “It was…beautiful. It was so different from the prayer services in Stormwind, and yet the peace I feel inside me is pretty much the same. I am really glad I got the chance to attend something like this.”

“The spirits and the Light were with us this morning. They seemed to move through the earth beneath us and warm the wind around us. It’s always nice to be reminded that we aren’t alone.” 

“It really is.”

There was a lengthy pause. The clanging of bells grew increasingly distant. Dezco seemed lost in thought. Finally, after heaving a sigh, the tauren spoke up again: “When you arrived this morning I was concerned, but it seems that peace has returned to your eyes once more, Prince Anduin.”

Oh. He hadn’t realized he had been so obvious. The faintest hint of heaviness started to return to his chest, crawling up from the pit of his stomach. It twisted around his heart, a dull ache gnawing at the calm he had found there. He tried to bring his thoughts back to the ritual, but now his father’s face waited in the shadows, strained and disappointed. He drew in a breath.

Dezco seemed to sense the change in him, regarding him with a concerned look. “I am sorry if I have overstepped my boundaries with such a question. I only want to bless you, and ask the Light to guide you in all decisions.”

He shook his head slowly. “No, no, Dezco, it’s quite all right.” As much as he didn’t want to burden the Sunwalker with his problems, part of him knew that Dezco was the only person other than Wrathion with whom he could discuss them, and sometimes there were things he couldn’t even discuss with Wrathion. Dezco already knew, and, more than that, he seemed to understand. He had been there the moment they had met, and he had heard the conversations, the fights, the laughter. He had seen Wrathion be more than just ‘some black dragon,’ and Anduin, more than ‘a confused child.’ 

But on the other hand, he didn’t want to lay this burden on such an acquaintance, particularly not while his emotions were still so high. He closed his eyes, praying that all concern would leave his voice when he replied: “My father knows, about Wrathion and me. He found out this morning. But I think everything will be okay.”

If Dezco saw through his forced smile, he didn’t make it known to Anduin. He merely nodded, returning his gaze to the road in front of them. He seemed sympathetic, but not surprised. “Light be with you, Anduin.”

The prince smiled, weak but genuine. “Thank you, Sunwalker. I appreciate it.”

They walked along in silence, just far enough away from the noisy group to hear their footsteps against the path: Anduin’s light but uneven, and Dezco’s heavy and filled with purpose. He was grateful to have such a companion, even though politics and history made their friendship somewhat unlikely. He had found during his short time in Pandaria that sometimes the most meaningful relationships come where least expected, and Dezco was no exception. 

As Halfhill came into view in the distance, Anduin spoke again, his voice lighter and far less strained. “If you don’t mind me asking, Sunwalker…do you think I’m doing the right thing? With my father, and…everything.”

“A difficult question,” the tauren mused, but didn’t falter. “In your eyes, yes, I believe you are doing the right thing. And in your father’s eyes, he is doing the right thing. Because your motivations are both pure and well-intentioned, it is difficult to judge who makes the ‘better’ choice.”

“What do you mean…?”

“As a paladin, I use the Light to banish evil, protect those I love, and rally like-minded people to our cause. In a way, I feel like I am positioned between you and your father: I know the Light’s warmth and love, but I also focus on keeping out those whose thoughts and deeds are not in line with the Light of An’she. I would do anything to protect my son, and use the Light to those ends.”

Anduin felt a twinge in his chest at the mention of Dezco’s son. Like his father, the tauren had become a widower with only one surviving child in his family. The empathy he felt for Dezco led him to empathy for his own father, and he looked away to hide the concern in his eyes. 

Dezco continued, “But you rely on compassion, and seek to understand every way of thinking and how they fit together beneath the Light of the Sun. You acknowledge that darkness must exist in balance with light, and pray for understanding as you navigate through the world with all its complexities. Your mercy has inspired you to reach out to those who would otherwise be excluded: Other beliefs, other races, and, yes, even a black dragon.”

Dezco paused. Anduin nodded.

“For those of us who look to the Light, the world it illuminates and the priorities we set there might look somewhat different. Your father isn’t a religious man, but he is steadfast and resolute in his protection of you. I feel the Light and its warmth, but still use it to exclude those who stray from its path. You feel its love and invite those who otherwise would be lost to share in that glow with you. These are different approaches, but they are all rooted firmly in righteousness.”

_That makes sense._ Anduin was thankful he had opened up to the tauren. As always, he was lucid and considerate in all the ways the prince relied on him to be. Everything he said was so reasonable, so steady. He couldn’t stop himself from asking for more. “And Wrathion? What do you think about his intentions?”

The tauren stopped walking for a moment; Anduin paused beside him, waiting for him to continue. Finally, he looked down into the human’s eyes. “Just as I feel that I am between you and your father, it seems you are between me and Wrathion. I don’t see him as a monster, but it is difficult for me to understand him. His beliefs and methods are contrary to what I have learned as a paladin, and as a tauren. But you are the only one who treats him like a person, and so you are the only one with the right to judge.”

“But what if my emotions are clouding my judgment? What if I’m being a fool?”

“Emotions can illuminate the truth just as thoughts do, Anduin. You, as a priest, rely on this. Sometimes the heart can see what the head cannot.”

“I…” He trailed off, staring at his feet. Pressing the base of his cane against a pebble, he watched it escape the pressure and shoot out, rolling across the dirt. He tried to think of a way to voice his concerns, to explain every fear that had come to him as he argued with his father, but the swell in his throat couldn’t quite form the words. “I-I guess,” he managed to stutter. 

Dezco rested a hand on his shoulder. Light radiated through the tense muscles beneath his fingers and surrounded Anduin with a warmth to rival that which he had felt during prayer. But rather than losing himself to the numinous, this touch seemed to preserve him. He offered an appreciative smile.

“May the Light of the Sun protect you, Anduin Wrynn.” He bowed, and with that, they parted. 

Anduin left the path and made for the neutral campsite, the paladin’s words still racing through his head. He was used to relying on his feelings when connecting with the Light, but he had been warned too many times about doing this. He had been called too kind, too optimistic, too naïve, but Dezco had treated those traits like marks of his success as a priest and as a person, not as something silly and dangerous. It was a relief to hear someone say this, and yet, if he was wrong, Anduin might bring ruin upon his people. He felt torn.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice that he had entered the camp, unguarded as it was, until a sizeable pavilion rose up in front of him. He circled around back; he found a large cluster of pandaren and champions cheering in a ring between the rows of tents. A familiar voice from the center caught his attention. He stopped, stretching up onto the toes of his uninjured foot to get a better look.

Wrathion stood with folded arms, his turban perched on his head. He directed a red whelp to shoot a blast of fire at some kind of cat. The cat screamed in pain; Wrathion’s eyes stayed fixed on the target. The cat tried to scratch, but the whelp attacked again, burning it until it fell unconscious. An undead champion, the owner of the pet, let out a groan, and at least half the crowd followed up with similar sounds of distress. But the Black Prince’s face remained fixed in its usual scowl, reacting neither to the injured animal nor to his apparent success.

“You should have known better than to underestimate a dragon,” he teased, mirthlessly. 

The forsaken shook his head; his bones rattling slightly. 

Not this again. He had watched Wrathion battle champions with his pets before, but it never stopped making him sick to his stomach. The dragon had no qualms about injuring these animals, and even had the nerve to use dragon whelps, creatures not very different from himself, as part of his game. The look on his face, unflinching and cold, made it even worse. Anduin couldn’t stand it; he looked away. 

As he studied the ground, he heard another champion, a tauren, by the sound of his footfalls, taking the undead’s place. A pandaren beside him leaned over and rustled a moneybag at his waist. “Twenty gold says the Black Prince wins again,” he whispered, apparently not recognizing Anduin or feeling the discomfort he exuded. He shook his head, remaining silent. 

“Please, step forward, challenger. I hope you make it harder for me. I’m getting bored.”

How Wrathion could go from charming to unpleasant in little more than a sentence Anduin wasn’t sure. But Anduin wasn’t sure of many things about the dragon: How he could capture and injure one of his own kind for sport, how he could deceive his champions into fighting one another, and how he could get _so angry_ the moment things didn’t go his way. When he considered Wrathion like that, he quickly plunged into unease at the very thought of having feelings for him. And yet, he did have feelings. He confided in him and opened up to him in ways he never had before. If that wasn’t foolishness, Anduin didn’t know what to make of it.

He chanced a glance into the ring. The red whelp cast a healing spell and Wrathion scanned the crowd, waiting for the audience to finish their bets. He caught Anduin’s eye; the corners of his lips twitched slightly. Anduin could only nod in reply, not wanting to look like he approved of what Wrathion was doing.

It was strange, but Anduin had never seen Wrathion really smile except at him. While interacting with his guards or meeting with champions, he always looked so dour, his lips set in a firm line and his eyes narrowed to glowing slits. Anduin had grown accustomed to this expression, and knew it wasn’t always meant as a mark of anger against its recipient…but there were other times, other faces, that Wrathion seemed to share only with him. A look of surprise when Anduin made a skilled move in jihui. A grin when he offered him some foreign delicacy his agents had procured. Warm eyes and a breathy laugh as he rubbed against him, clutching his naked shoulder with his claw and burying his face against Anduin’s chest…these memories made his feelings for the dragon feel so easy, so understandable. Private moments shared between them made everything seem okay.

He smiled, and it was Wrathion he watched as light bubbled up inside of him. Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t deny what he felt. 

He turned and made for the dragon’s tent, unmistakable among the stark canopies of various other factions. Right and a blood elf Anduin didn’t recognize stood watch at either side of the tent; Right smiled when she saw him, and the elf gave a respectful nod. 

“Hello! I know Wrathion is busy right now, but I was wondering if I could leave a message?”

Right shot the elf a strange look; the elf squirmed under her gaze, but nodded, inclining his head towards door. Anduin had no idea why they were acting so strangely. But Right gave him no time to ask, “Go ahead and leave him a note inside. He should have some paper on the chest by his bed.”

“Oh…uh, okay. If you’re sure it’s all right?”

“It is. He trusts you.”

Anduin felt a bit awkward about this declaration but knew it couldn’t be as pointed as it seemed. Trying not to dwell on it, he lifted the curtain and ducked beneath to enter the tent. Purple light bathed the ground he crossed on his way to a cot piled with pillows, likely meant to serve as a bed for the dragon in either his whelp or human form. A chest stood on the floor beside it. Anduin sat down on a pillow, thankful for a chance to rest his leg, and scooted the box in front of him. He dipped a quill in the inkwell, writing:

“Wrathion, my father wants to have dinner with us tonight. I promise it will be safe. Please meet me there at the eighteenth hour if you have time. I’m sorry for the trouble!”

He paused and pondered how he should sign it. ‘Love’ seemed embarrassing, but something like ‘Sincerely’ felt rigid and out of place. His gaze drifted to the floor; something peeked out from beneath the overhanging blanket. Curious, he reached down and gave it a tug.

Out from under the bed slid a dragon toy; It looked as if someone had bought a red dragon but painted it black in honor of the prince. Anduin picked it up, running his fingers down the slope of its back. _Who could have given him this?_ He mused, smiling in spite of himself at the cute dragon face and its tiny dragon wings. Well, the size was certainly appropriate. He hugged the toy to his chest. 

A noise outside caught his attention. It sounded like another agent had arrived outside, a worgen, Anduin guessed by his accent, to deliver some report: “No major disturbances in the Horde camp. A few orcs harassed a warlock out on the road, but made no mention of the boss. The only complaint I caught was something about his relationship with–” 

“The ‘White Crane’ is present,” Right snapped. The worgen trailed off.

The _White Crane_? Wrathion had given him a code name? Anduin wasn’t sure if he should groan or blush; he resorted to hugging the dragon toy closer and shaking his head. The crane, of all things: a symbol of hope, healing, and restoration, revered by the people of this continent. How could he measure up to such a model? 

Embarrassed as he was, he found himself leaning down and pressing his lips against the toy’s head. Hope. Did he bring hope to Wrathion? Part of him hoped so, though another part worried that he was being too prideful by thinking it. He nuzzled the dragon; he could almost imagine that it was Wrathion’s warm scales beneath his cheek, not the cool metal of a toy. 

But the clanging of his bracelet against the surface shook him from these thoughts. He looked down at the white jade, a stark contrast to the onyx hue of the toy, that seemed alive with lions jumping and sleeping and standing watch in all their stately glory. Well, he supposed the ‘crane’ was a more fitting moniker than the ‘lion,’ which would have been the obvious choice. He hid his giggle against the dragon’s back, trying to imagine Wrathion ordering his agents to call him that.

Without a second thought, he rose to his feet and placed the dragon toy down on his bed. In its paws he propped up the letter. Satisfied with his work, he reached in to his tunic and extracted the Chi-Ji charm he had purchased yesterday. The tiny crane hung from a red rope, a prayer written on banners draped to the right and left of him. He slipped it around the dragon’s neck.

_Well, this will be easier than signing it, at least._ He smiled to himself, overcome with hope that the charm and its prayers would inspire the dragon as the crane had inspired him. 

As he looked down at his handiwork, all he could feel was love.

_________________________

Varian’s concern was making it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

“I can confirm that what they said about the warlocks is true,” he dimly heard Jaina say, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to clear his head. “A few months ago, one of my mages intercepted a message telling Theron to keep the warlock champions away from Orgrimmar.” 

A flat disk in the center of the table hummed and flickered with the sound of Jaina’s voice, runes he didn’t know lighting up in the air each time the transmission came through. She had given the mysterious object to him after she drove the Sunreavers from Dalaran, and it had proven useful while she and the Kirin Tor campaigned on the Isle of Thunder. Now he was putting it to a different, and perhaps even more disconcerting use: After his meeting with the Darkspear he had rushed to fill her in on the developments in Durotar, not wanting to leave her out of the negotiations as he had previously with the Sin’dorei.

However, as soon as he had heard her voice he had wanted nothing more than to seek out personal counsel. But he knew that now was neither the time nor the place to discuss Anduin’s love life, particularly while the Horde seemed to stand at the brink of civil war. He needed to put the needs of his people first, and Jaina would certainly agree.

“At the time we had no idea what to make of it,” she continued. Varian nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see him. “We worried they were planning to summon some kind of demon in Pandaria, but nothing ever materialized.”

He grunted in assent. “Nobody trusts their warlocks, except the Forsaken, who are themselves questionable. But this is extreme.”

“Hanging his own people from hooks? It’s monstrous! But did you expect anything less from Garrosh?” Her voice jumped. Varian watched the runes ripple in the air at her change in pitch. 

Jaina sighed; it hissed like static through the transmitter. “We need to dispose of him. We cannot allow him to terrorize Kalimdor any longer.”

“But fighting a war on multiple fronts would cost us many lives. If Bloodhoof decides to keep his treaty with the orcs we will be trapped.”

“We can’t rely on them either way. The Horde cares little for treaties,” she all but snapped. He regretted that ever mentioning the treaties that had once held Kalimdor together. Rhetoric wasn’t his strong suit, but he usually did better than this. If only he could concentrate on the problems at hand; if only he could block out the image of Anduin and the dragon that kept pushing itself to the front of his thoughts.

There was a pause, and then Jaina’s voice returned, calmer and lower than before: “Is something else bothering you, Varian?”

He sighed, cursing himself for letting his distraction show. “We should focus on this,” he said, more for himself than for Jaina. He clasped his hands together on the table, waiting for her to agree, but her assent never came. Finally, he started again, “Anduin is with the black dragon.”

“I thought you were knew? He was curious about the Black Prince, and the pandaren healers recommended the hot springs at the Tavern in the Mist to ensure his full–”

“I found them in bed together.”

“Oh.”

There was a lengthy pause. Varian watched the runes fade with each passing moment. The air above the device crackled, but no sound came from the other end. But it didn’t feel like a stunned silence: it wasn’t a silence filled with horror or questions, but rather a silence that seemed to prompt him to continue explaining his concerns. He was stunned: Shouldn’t she be more upset? “You don’t sound very surprised?”

She exhaled; the runes returned to bathe his table in blue light, quivering as she responded, “He has dropped hints to me before about liking males.”

“Liking males? That isn’t the issue!” Why did everyone seem to think he would have a problem with that? Did they think him some kind of barbarian? He felt flushed and agitated at the thought. He knew that if he could see his own runes on Jaina’s end, they would be flashing and flooding the air right now. “We can look into surrogate inheritance if we have to. I will be glad to use my power as king to spare him from a life of unhappiness. But a black dragon? Jaina…”

“It is…disconcerting.”

“If only I had let him spend more time with boys his own age, or given him some space these last few years, maybe he wouldn’t have run off with the worst possible option–”

“Not the worst,” she cut him off; he couldn’t remember the last time she had cut him off. But he fell silent and waited for her opinion. After taking an audible breath, she followed up with a more complete response: “Varian, sometimes young people decide to follow the advice of everyone around them. But others try to follow their heart, and fall for someone that is condemned or cast out by their people.”

_And you’ve experienced both, when you were little older than Anduin, if my guesses about you and Thrall are true,_ he realized, staring blankly at the runes.

“Sometimes the person society recommends turns out to be a terrible choice, and sometimes the one who seems like a terrible choice turns out to be kind and wise in unexpected ways. I understand your concern here, Varian, but–”

“But he is the son of Deathwing! He murdered a red dragon and now passes his days ranting about the need for war. We have _no reason_ to trust him. What if he is trying to infiltrate the Alliance? What is he has come to finish the business Onyxia started?” 

It took a moment for Jaina to respond; When she finally spoke again, her voice was clear and soothing, her words carefully chosen. “We do run that risk. But there is also a chance he simply has feelings for your son. Anduin has grown into a handsome man; he’s kind, smart, and pleasant to be around. It’s possible that his intentions for Anduin aren’t part of any scheme at all.”

“But if they are? It would ruin us, and–” _Destroy my son,_ Varian thought but couldn’t bring himself to add, not wanting to consider the possibility. He glared down at his hands as he tried to get control of the pounding in his chest. “Is it really worth letting this continue?”

“It isn’t really our place to decide.” This time Jaina responded without hesitation; the runes from her disk swelled with the rise in her voice. “Anduin is an adult now, Varian, and if he thinks this is the right thing I suspect he will do it.”

He rested his head in his hands, aggravated not at the suggestion that his son would subvert his power but rather because he could hear Jaina’s disapproval of his intervention in every word she spoke. He had thought she would be more concerned, but perhaps she was too focused on the Horde to see the dangers at hand. _Or she, unlike you, is ready to give Anduin his independence,_ he realized in spite of himself, lacing his fingers through his hair. _But he is still so young. He still needs guidance and protection. I still need to be his father._

_I need to make up for the years of distraction and mental absence._ But Varian knew little about being father to an adult son. After Onyxia’s abduction, protecting Anduin had come so easily, and now, with this new ‘abduction,’ it made sense to meet it head-on before his son was hurt. But Anduin was rarely wrong about people, and if Varian continued to overstep his boundaries he might lose his trust completely. Either way he could potentially lose his son; he couldn’t bear to think of him suffering due to another one of his mistakes.

“Varian, it isn’t easy for any parent to think about their child having sex,” Jaina added, as if she could read his mind. “And it’s even harder letting them make their own mistakes, but sometimes it’s the only way…”

He let out a resigned sigh; closing his eyes, he forced his concerns to heel. “…and if I let it continue, should I inform the other Alliance leaders?”

Jaina fell silent for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. As bad as Varian felt for distracting an important conversation, he was thankful to have Jaina’s opinion on a matter that was too weighty for him to take on alone, as personal as it was. She had always been a skilled politician, and even with her recent distress he trusted her to come to the right conclusion. He waited; she finally spoke up:

“They are young, Varian. We have no idea what this relationship means to them. They could be experimenting or infatuated. Anduin could be testing his new power as an adult– which is a perfectly normal thing to do, before you get upset– and Wrathion, well, he might just be looking for a companion. We have no way of knowing what is going on between them. Let’s not cause any additional problems until we know for sure that this is an issue worth making public.”

Varian nodded. One of his hands slowly fell from his head to rest on the desk. 

“When we have dealt with Garrosh and the Horde we can come together with Anduin and talk things over. From there we will figure out how to proceed. We don’t know what to make of Wrathion, but Garrosh has proved time and again that he is a threat to all of us. Better to deal with the evil we know than the…well, the son of a vanquished enemy.”

He remained silent, but she seemed to sense his agreement. The runes on the transmitter wavered as her voice fell, “With your permission, I could seek counsel with Kalecgos about the prince. He might be able to put our concerns at ease.”

“Yes,” Varian looked up, his gaze drifting to the door that his son had exited from hours before. The next person to walk through the canvased hallway would probably be the ‘Black Prince’ himself, and Varian couldn’t help but wish he were more prepared to deal with him. Any information that could help him understand his son’s choice would be greatly appreciated. Grateful for Jaina’s input, he tried his best to get his mind back on track. “Thank you, Jaina. I…appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome, Varian. I wish you the best.”

“And you, as well.” And with that, the runes fell away and the magical hum of the transmitter faded into the air.

_________________________

Anduin watched his father lift his eyes towards the door. The lines of his face were even more pronounced in the lamplight, and his lips looked terse and strained when he uttered a ‘yes’ to the guards waiting in the smaller part of the tent. Anduin didn’t need to turn around to feel them separating– their armor clanked; their shields knocked against their legs. He turned his thoughts to the Light, praying to sooth his shattered nerves.

A lighter set of footfalls circled around the back of his chair and approached his father’s seat. Anduin watched out of the corner of his eye as Wrathion gave a slight bow, wincing when his father failed to return the gesture. But Wrathion seemed undeterred. He waved in a guard, a human Anduin remembered from the tavern, who approached the king with a cut-glass bottle of white wine: high elven, if Anduin had to guess. The agent placed it down in front of Varian; flecks of light danced across the table as the lamp flickered behind it. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet with you in private, King Varian Wrynn. I hope you will accept a gift of Brightsong Wine in token of our thanks.”

Varian grunted slightly. Anduin shot Wrathion a warning look. 

“Prince Wrathion,” Varian did little to conceal his displeasure, though he did, thankfully, accept the wine, “I’m sure you understand my reluctance to invite one who has openly mocked me to my table.”

“Oh, I never mock, King Wrynn. I merely call attention to flaws in the current leadership. I’m sure you understand.”

Anduin felt like he had been punched in the gut. This meeting had only lasted a few minutes, and already it was taking a turn for the worse. He couldn’t trust either of the men to bring it around on their own; forcing air into his deflated chest, he managed to interrupt with a quick “Wrathion! Thank you for coming” and a pointed nudge to the seat beside him. 

“Prince Anduin.” Just as he had done at the feast the previous night, Wrathion took his hand, cupping his fingers in his gloved palm. But this time he brought it to his lips, planting a polite, but not hesitant, kiss on his skin. His goatee tickled Anduin’s knuckles. Anduin squeezed his thumb with all his might, trying to communicate all the hope, love, fear, concern, warning, and hesitation he wasn’t able to voice. Wrathion looked up; his red eyes flashed with recognition. _Maybe we can turn this around,_ Anduin assured himself.

When they broke eye contact, Anduin turned to find his father watching in stunned silence. Aversion manifested in wrinkles between his eyebrows, but he offered only a weak cough in protest. Wrathion pulled out the chair to Anduin’s left and sat down beside him. Varian’s eyes moved to the agent flanking his opposite side. “If we are to meet in private, I must ask you to dismiss your guard. I will do likewise.”

Though Anduin couldn’t see Wrathion’s face from beside him, something in his expression must have prompted Varian to continue. The king shook his head, “With your _draconic_ magic,” he stressed the word far more than he should have, “you will be the most armed person in the room. You have no need of bodyguards here.”

Still feeling like Wrathion was ready to protest, Anduin chanced a light brush to his knee beneath the table. He felt his shoulders start to relax. “As you wish, King Wrynn. Wake, leave us.” The human bowed and exited beside the royal guards.

As soon as they were alone, Varian dropped any hint of formality. “I wouldn’t be meeting with you if you hadn’t chosen to bed my son, dragon. Don’t presume I am interested in your agenda.”

“I assumed,” he shrugged. “Your babying of Anduin is infamous.”

Varian’s eyes narrowed. Anduin felt the color drain from his face. “And how _infamous_ is your treatment of Anduin, son of Deathwing? How many people know what you have been doing to my child?”

Anduin glanced between them; his lips felt shaky and numb. “How about some of this wine?” He managed to gasp, torn between anger and frustration at how they argued over him as if he weren’t even there. Wrathion, at least, knew better than that. He needed to snap his friend out of this bout. “Is it all right if I pour, Wrathion?”

Thankfully, something in his voice must have warned the dragon away from any comeback he had intended to make. Instead he nodded, offering Anduin the faintest hint of a smile. “Yes, yes. That is why I brought it.” Varian, too, seemed to be fighting to quell his anger; he took a few audible breaths before passing the bottle and his glass across the table. 

Anduin uncorked the bottle with a light pop and lined up three (though he hesitated before adding his own to the row) glasses in front of him. He carefully tipped the bottle; the wine cascaded into each glass, bubbling and churning from the base to the brim, casting golden light across the hand that steadied them. He was grateful for a distraction from the tension brewing in air around him. 

When he finished, he passed one glass to Wrathion and another to his father. Varian took a sip without toasting, while the dragon to his left remained still and silent.

“I attended a religious ritual with the pandaren today,” Anduin tried his best to sound casual, though he couldn’t stop himself from rocking his glass in nervous excitement. “It was beautiful. A few of our shaman attended, as well. It was nice to learn about some of the local methods of worship.”

Varian grunted. Wrathion finally took a sip of his wine. Anduin didn’t really expect either of them to be interested– Varian was not religious, and Wrathion only seemed to care about practices that involved some kind of mysterious power– but he decided it was better to keep talking than to let them lapse into awkward silence. “The music they play to rouse the spirits is much different than the choirs we have at the Cathedral in Stormwind, but it was stunning in its own right.” 

“How many people know about your…relationship?” It was as if his father hadn’t heard him. His eyes flashed above the brim of his glass, fixed on Wrathion’s face as he continued. “The guards that used to escort Anduin to your quarters, I assume?”

“Oh no, father,” he shook his head, hoping the gesture would draw his father’s gaze. “They don’t know. We were very discreet. I’m pretty sure they have no idea.”

“And what of your agents, dragon?” Varian’s glare remained locked on Wrathion’s face. 

If he was disturbed by Varian’s eyes, he did not let it show. He met him with a mysterious stare of his own, pressing the brim of the glass against his lips. “I saw no need to keep it from them. They trust my judgment, you see.”

The dragon and the king remained locked in a battle of wills, blue eyes meeting red eyes across the empty table and paying no heed to the prince fidgeting on the sidelines. Anduin felt his palms getting sweaty in his lap. He reached over and grabbed Wrathion’s hand, hoping the touch would still the quiver moving from his wrist to his fingertips, but to no avail. Varian looked between them with a scowl that seemed to say ‘I know exactly what you are doing,’ but in the end his eyes fell back on Wrathion. The dragon didn’t flinch; his gloved thumb traced a circle across the back of Anduin’s hand. 

When Varian finally responded, it was with a tired voice that didn’t seem to match the fury in his eyes. “I told Jaina, this afternoon. Is there anyone else I should know about?”

Wrathion opened his mouth to speak, but Anduin cut him off, “Sunwalker Dezco.”

“Anduin.” The warning tone in his father’s voice was difficult to stomach. Varian had loosened up in his treatment of the Horde over the past few years, but that wouldn’t stop him from expecting the worst from one who was privy to such a private secret, even a paladin as kind and honorable as Dezco. Anduin wanted to assuage him with words of reassurance, but couldn’t find his voice. He could only sip at his wine and pray that the Light would put the king’s mind at ease. 

Luckily a distraction appeared in the form of a servant waiting in front of the tent. “Permission to enter with food, your Majesty?” He called through the flap. 

Varian’s tone returned to its public register: “Enter.”

A cluster of servants circled around the table carrying food from the festival. The foreign dishes had been arranged and served much like dinners at the Stormwind royal court, on dishes and in bowls bearing the crest of the Alliance. Anduin smiled as they placed empty plates, forks, and napkins down in front of each of the three of them. “Thank you,” his voice was a bit breathless, but otherwise warm with gratitude.

The arrival of dinner plunged the room into silence, punctuated only by the scrape of forks and spoons against the bowls and the sound of Anduin nervously chewing pieces of fish he popped in to his mouth. Wrathion released his hold on Anduin’s hand to serve himself some Black Pepper Ribs, and even Varian’s face seemed to soften with each bite of Braised Turtle. Anduin focused on the flavor of the carp in his mouth and even managed to put to rest the shaking in his hands. This felt almost…normal. Natural. His frown turned up into a smile.

“Have you made it out to the festivities today, father?” He asked between bites. 

The king shook his head. “I have been in meetings all day,” he glanced over at Wrathion with eyes that warned against further questions on the topic, though his face remained relatively calm. “What has been happening out there, aside from the ritual?”

“There was a vegetable contest today, with massive turnips and carrots and even an oversized leek.” His smile came easier; he relaxed back into his seat, glancing between Wrathion, who nodded, and Varian, who at least made a half-hearted attempt to look interested. “And there were these pumpkins. They were as big as, I don’t know, something like–”

“Dragon eyes?” Wrathion supplied, taking a bite from his spring roll.

“Yeah, something like that,” he laughed. 

But it was as if Varian remembered that Wrathion was still present when he added his voice to the conversation. “But you’re still just a whelp, son of Deathwing, if I’m not mistaken.”

Anduin nearly dropped his fork, but Wrathion looked completely unfazed. “If you are hoping to get a rise out of me with that title, King Wrynn, I’m afraid you will be disappointed. I make no secret of who I am.” 

“I was only hoping for a taste of _Wrath_ ion’s famous rage, whelp.”

Wrathion sneered, ignoring the nudge Anduin gave him beneath the table. “Lucky for me I have already had more than an ample taste of your famous temper, your Majesty.”

Anduin could only look away in disbelief. As quickly as peace had come to the room it had fled, yielding once more to a struggle for dominance between the two men Anduin cared for so deeply. Varian tried to agitate Wrathion into a breakdown while Wrathion used pointed insults to try to come out on top. He hoped that somehow one of them would show themselves to be the better man and back down. But with these two, even Anduin had trouble keeping his doubts at bay. 

“I wonder what the fireworks will be like tonight?” He tried again, though his voice grew weaker with every attempt to get the conversation back on track. “Last night was spectacular. I wonder how they plan to top that display…”

“So fantastic that the Alliance guards were too distracted to see this ‘whelp’ riding on their prince’s back.” _Wrathion, come on!_ Anduin’s entire face crumpled in resignation.

“Or they were too busy rounding up the yaks your ‘agents’ tortured,” Varian snapped, paying no heed to decorum or control. This was getting out of hand. 

“Wrathion, I, I wonder,” his voice cracked, but, unsurprisingly, neither of them seemed to notice, “I wonder if they could hear the fireworks all the way up on the Veiled Stair? It isn’t too far from here…”

“What do you get up to on that mountain, anyway?” Varian gave the Black Prince no chance to respond. “It seems strange that a _royal_ such as yourself would need to hide away in a shoddy old tavern. You have to admit it looks suspicious.” 

“Oh, you know,” Wrathion’s stare remained unflinching, but something in his eyes that Anduin couldn’t see seemed to capture the king’s attention. “Protecting the world for ungrateful humans such as yourself, making sure you fools prepare for impending destruction.” 

“By ordering Horde champions to slay an esteemed general? That sounds like a step in your father’s footsteps to me.”

Wrathion let out an exasperated sigh; it was as if the temper he had struggled to stifle was starting to boil over with a hiss of steam. Anduin all but grabbed his leg. He focused his mind on filling the room with light and calm and anything else that would keep these two in their seats. “Come on, both of you, please…”

“I was doing what has to be done to protect Azeroth from the Burning Legion. As Earth-warder–” 

“You are no Earth-warder. You are a failed experiment, with no place or purpose in this world.”

Anduin could barely believe what he was hearing. His father’s words blinded him with anger, and he didn’t realize he was on his feet until he felt a sharp bolt of pain from the sole of his foot to the top of his knee. He clutched Wrathion’s chair; the dragon’s lack of reaction only made Anduin feel worse, and he couldn’t help but wonder what emotions he was concealing in the silence that overcame him. Anduin’s entire body shook: How could Varian say such a horrible thing to anyone, let alone someone he cared about?

Varian looked up at his son. The anger in his scowl gave way to concern, and it wasn’t until Anduin blinked that he realized his cheeks were streaked with tears. He wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand, too upset to feel embarrassed; he wanted nothing more than to reach down and hug Wrathion, but the dragon remained unmoving.

Varian waited for a moment and then, with a deep breath, began again. “Anduin, you are an adult, and this is your decision. I am not going to say you can’t be with this dragon…” He trailed off, taking another breath. “I only hope you remain discrete, and remember your loyalties if a time ever comes when we must take up arms against him. Please do not forget who you are.”

Anduin couldn’t even find it in himself to thank his father for his ‘permission,’ as half-hearted as it was. He could only shake his head, giving the dragon’s shoulder a squeeze before reaching for his cane. “Come on, Wrathion.”

He rose wordlessly, offering Varian a curt, but thankless, nod and following Anduin out of the tent. 

Once outside, Anduin gave his eyes another swipe, suddenly self-conscious about the wetness of his cheeks and his undoubtedly disheveled appearance. All he wanted was to get inside his tent and drop any charade of ‘proper behavior:’ to let go of his emotions and apologize to Wrathion again and again for what his father had said. He distantly heard the dragon whisper something to his guard, but he didn’t stop to wonder, charging forward and trusting that Wrathion would follow. He came up beside him at front of the tent; the guards cast glances in their direction, but, perhaps because of Anduin’s tears or the events of the morning, refrained from questioning them. Wrathion lifted the canvas flap, and Anduin ducked inside.

As soon as they were alone, Anduin turned, dropping his cane to wrap Wrathion in a tight embrace. But the dragon remained motionless, neither lifting his arms to return the hug nor giving any indication that he needed the comfort. And yet the human was undeterred, pressing his shaky lips against Wrathion’s cheek several times, reaching up with his other hand to rub his shoulder beneath his pauldrons. “I’m so sorry…” He mumbled, not sure what he could say to make up for his father’s cruel words.

“You are more upset than I am,” Wrathion pointed out, his voice low and even.

“B-but what he said–”

Wrathion shook his head, finally giving in and leaning against Anduin’s shoulder for a loose hug, but still showing no signs of hurt or…any emotion, really, as far as Anduin could see. “Your father’s opinion means nothing. I have no need for his approval.”

Anduin could only sigh; he tried his best to focus on the warmth of the other man’s body and the way his silk undershirt felt under his hand, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering why, if Wrathion really didn’t care, he was acting so distant. “Well,” he mumbled, sniffling in spite of himself, “at least he isn’t going to stop us from being together.”

And at that moment, Wrathion did the least expected thing Anduin could imagine: he grumbled: “He was a fool to cave like that. Your father has gone soft.”

Anduin pulled back, holding Wrathion at arm’s length and staring at him in horror. “H-how…how could you say that? How are you not happy?” _What is_ wrong _with you?_ He silently added, but couldn’t find it in his heart to say it. Wrathion’s face met his questions with its usual sneer; Anduin’s ears pounded as blood rushed to his head.

“He was clearly unhappy about it, but he refused to do anything. That is a poor quality in a leader, and one that might cost your people their lives in the future.”

“From you?” Anduin couldn’t believe what he was hearing: Was this an admission of guilt, or was Wrathion merely trying to get under his skin? Either way, it was horrifying, and he wasn’t sure if he should push the dragon away or silence him with a forceful kiss. He shook his head adamantly. “I lied for you; I didn’t tell my father about Lei Shen’s heart because I didn’t want to make you look any worse, and now you’re telling m–”

“I never said I would be the one to hurt them,” Wrathion shrugged Anduin’s hand off his arm, in effect solving the human’s dilemma. He turned and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “As I have heard, your father used to be strong and decisive, qualities he will need to fight the Legion. But what I saw tonight was pathetic. I cannot support a leader like that.”

Anduin’s leg was screaming in pain, but sitting down beside Wrathion felt like concession, and he refused to give the dragon the satisfaction. He leaned against a box by the door and let the ball of emotions in his chest distract him from the ache. “You have no idea what it was like before, when he was like that. No idea. You know what he said about you? That was only a taste of the way he used to be. He used to think orcs were animals incapable of empathy, and, and even tried to kill Thrall. When he got back after _your sister_ I used to get so nervous around him, but now…now Jaina and I…”

“…have made him more like you?” Wrathion supplied. There was no hint of softness in his voice.

“And you think that’s terrible, don’t you? You think I’m terrible?”

“I never said ‘terrible.’ I think you’re weak, yes, but–”

Anduin crossed the room with a few agonizing steps and caught the dragon’s wrist in his hand, squeezing it hard and lifting it up into the air. He gave it a pointed shake; Wrathion didn’t flinch. “Why are you even with me, Wrathion? You clearly think I’m weak, and stupid, and…” He could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He squeezed them closed, hoping Wrathion hadn’t noticed. “You think I’m going to be a bad king, so why even talk to me? Let alone everything else…”

As he stared up into Anduin’s face, Wrathion’s expression finally softened. His wrist relaxed in the human’s grasp and he traced a finger gently along the inside of his arm. Looking just as confused as Anduin himself, he sighed and dropped his gaze. “I’m with you because I enjoy your company. It has nothing to do with my opinion of you as a leader.”

Anduin exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. His voice started to soften, but he didn’t relax his hold on Wrathion’s arm. “Don’t you realize how much it hurts when you question me like that? It always sounds like you think I’m the absolute worst possible choice for the throne, and it’s confusing and awful to hear that from someone I…well, you know. I know we both criticize each other sometimes, but that’s…”

“I am only trying to protect the world, and you, dear prince,” his voice fell, and he continued to stare down at the ground beyond Anduin’s legs. “If you had any idea what I’ve seen–”

“Then _tell_ me, Wrathion. Talk to me about it. Help me understand. What is all of this for if we can’t rely on each other?” He let Wrathion’s arm fall to his lap, moving his hands to press against the mattress on either side of his legs. He leaned forward, thankful to take some of the weight off his leg, and claimed his mouth in a forceful kiss. Wrathion parted his lips but stayed otherwise frozen in place. 

“I have told you what will happen,” he muttered.

“But not what you’re thinking and feeling, Wrathion. Not what drives you to make the choices you do. Not how you feel being the last of your kind, or…anything like that. I want to understand.”

“I am sorry, dear prince, but I simply can’t.” 

Anduin grabbed on to the leather straps of Wrathion’s robes, using them to drag him back onto the bed. His eyes widened slightly, but he otherwise gave no sign of shock or resistance. Anduin pressed down against him. “You don’t trust me to handle it, do you? Why?”

“ _You_ don’t trust me, Anduin. You’ve said so countless times, and I’ve commended you for it. If either of us is acting divided, it’s you.”

But Anduin couldn’t let himself hear it. Surely if you care about someone you should respect their beliefs, trust them to share their feelings and problems, and open up to them about things you wouldn’t tell anyone else…right? He had always imagined that when he fell in love he would be able to stand by that person in everything, but then Wrathion came into his life and all of those dreams fell apart. Dezco had told him to trust his heart, but to what extent? Could they truly be together while all of these differences stood between them?

It was usually so easy for him to respect and accept the choices made by others, but when it came to Wrathion he found himself wanting it to be easy. But it would never be easy. Even the first night they fell asleep together, as he felt Wrathion’s bare skin pressing against him, he had found himself wondering how he could be so close to someone and yet feel like they were walking two different roads. No matter how their relationship grew, that feeling never left him.

A hand against his hip shook him from his thoughts. Wrathion had removed his glove, and now trailed his nails lightly over the front of his pants. A piece of string and the charm that hung from it– the Chi-Ji charm he had given him earlier that day– brushed against his thigh. Anduin looked down. 

“You got up there and now you look like you have no idea what you’re doing,” Wrathion teased. His lips cracked into a playful smile, his pointed teeth flashing beneath them. A blush claimed Anduin’s cheeks. 

“I, um…” Somehow admitting that he had caught him in the middle of a mental war about their relationship didn’t seem appropriate, even if there was little doubt in his mind that Wrathion had figured it out. He let out a slight laugh, attempting to change his tone, “I just wanted to make you wait. I know how you hate waiting.”

Trying to stop his racing thoughts, Anduin reached for Wrathion’s hand and pinned it above his head. He leaned forward, pressing their lips together in a kiss far more desperate than he had intended, his tongue forcing its way past his pointed teeth and into the wetness behind them. Their fingers laced together on the pillow. Anduin rocked his hips, earning a groan of approval that disappeared into his mouth.

He rubbed against him; the dragon’s scaled armor pressed into his hips, giving him leverage to slide against his shirt tenting below. Wrathion arched his back, and his turban started to fall off onto the bed beneath him. Sliding his free hand up the dragon’s cheek, Anduin nudged it the rest of the way off, tangling his hand into his hair and using that grip to steady himself. Wrathion’s growl faded into laughter. “Mhm, you should let out this side of yourself more often.”

_Only when I need a distraction from all of the problems we’re causing,_ Anduin couldn’t help but think, trying to chase away this thought with every thrust of his hips. But the tightness building in his pants wasn’t enough to take away the memory of his father’s unkind words, Wrathion’s unflinching response, and, worst of all, the insults he had hurled at him when he tried to help. His heart pounded, but it was as much an ache of pain as it was of excitement. 

How did Wrathion do it? Disagreeing with everything he stood for and yet inviting physical affection? How could he separate this personal relationship so cleanly from the rest of his life? 

But he wasn’t Wrathion. He felt everything so intensely, so painfully. And despite what Dezco had said, in that moment a small part of his mind cursed his heart for its power. He felt hope slipping away; the light inside him faded under a cloud of doubt. 

His feelings drove him down into a heap against the other man’s chest. The familiar heat and smell of the dragon assaulted his senses, and he could only cling to him, shaking, unable to move. Wrathion reached down for the front of his pants but seemed to think better of it, moving his palm to the small of his back instead. Anduin shuddered; Wrathion held him close.

He was a mess. His breath quivered; Wrathion’s earring felt cold against his moist cheeks. He knew he must look ridiculous, but for once, Wrathion didn’t taunt him. He merely gave his hand a squeeze and then released it so he could reach down and push Anduin’s bangs out of his eyes. Anduin finally looked up. Wrathion offered a small, but sincere, smile, and kissed his forehead. 

“Now you really must think I’m weak,” Anduin mumbled.

“I… care about you, Anduin,” Wrathion sighed, in the same sheepish voice. “Not according to plan.”

And when their eyes met, Anduin knew that, at least in Wrathion’s own way, and by Wrathion’s own standards, he was telling the truth.

_________________________

An abrupt grab of his arm woke the dragon from his rest. His eyes shot open, only to find that it was Anduin reaching for him as several guards tugged him away from the bed. He sat up; a spark ignited in his chest. “What are you _doing_? Bring him back here!”

A familiar face appeared behind them: Sandra, that guard from the Tavern. Wrathion jumped to his feet and charged towards her. “Why are you letting them take him? I demand to know what is going on.”

His body shook. He could feel the fire building up inside of him, and he wanted nothing more than to aim a blast in the guards’ direction. But their close proximity to Anduin would put him at risk, so he had to settle for another spell that would block their exit from the tent. He extended his power into the ground beneath them; a few spikes burst through the bottom of the tent and shot a gust of dust into the air. Anduin coughed, but started twisting away from the hand that held him. 

A hand grabbed Wrathion from behind before the dust subsided, lifting him with a jerk. The iron grip broke his concentration, and the spikes immediately plummeted back into the ground. He transformed into his true form, but the hand caught him and held him tight.

He looked down at his midsection; a blue-gilded glove dug into his scales, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. He recognized that hand. Wrenching and jerking, he struggled to break free. “Varian Wrynn, put me down! This is a terrible time for a change of heart!” 

A blast from outside shook the tent. _The fireworks?_ Wrathion wondered, but abandoned this innocent thought as he caught the sound of voices in the distance. “Kill all warlocks,” they chanted in Orcish. “Death to the foes of Garrosh!”

They were under attack.

Varian charged forward; he offered no indication that he had heard his gasps. The dragon felt somewhat pathetic as he tried and failed to bite through the steel-clad finger pressed against his neck, and even worse when he flailed his wings uselessly in the air between his back and Varian’s chest. “Stop struggling,” the king grunted when he ducked under the tent flap. 

 

As soon as they were out the door Wrathion saw a flash of fire (some kind of bomb?) rocketing through the air overhead. It lit up the darkness before him, illuminating three dark metal palanquins with no windows or poles to support them. The first two were being stuffed with boxes of letters and other items, and then, Wrathion realized with a start, Anduin was being pushed into the third. He gave another jerk forward, calling out to him. 

“Kill all Darkspear,” the voices chanted in the distance, “Death to the foes of Garrosh!”

“Am I a prisoner now?” He hissed, leaning back his head until he could see Varian’s face. “What am I being accused of?”

“Ask them.” 

The voices returned. They throbbed in the air, rumbling like a storm ripping across the Valley. “Kill the Black Prince,” they roared. “Death to the foes of Garrosh!”

Wrathion’s heart sank, the sound still hammering in his ears. Foe of Garrosh? What on earth were they playing at? He hadn’t settled on a leader to support in his war, and certainly hadn’t done anything to affront Garrosh in particular. But if their threat the previous morning was any indication, they were angry, and, it seemed, all too eager to get their hands on him. Where had he gone wrong?

But he didn’t have time to dwell on these questions. Another boom rocked the world around them, and Varian all but threw Wrathion into the palanquin beside his son. Anduin scooped him into his lap and cupped his hand against his back; Varian removed the turban he had been carrying on his belt and dropped it down onto his head. He could barely make out the voices outside from beneath the pile of fabric. 

“Where are you taking him?” That sounded like Left, but he couldn’t be sure. Anduin ran a shaky thumb down the crest of his back.

“They’ll both go to Lion’s Landing, and your people can leave from there.” Left seemed to be protesting, because the king’s voice grew louder. “Would you rather fend for yourselves? Your prince is on their hit list, and you can’t have enough soldiers to fight them.”

Anduin must have sensed that Wrathion was about to crawl out from under the turban and speak for himself, because the grip on his back tightened. 

“Station one of your rogues with their cart, but you must guard the others. If the crowd sees you and this human, they will know the dragon is inside. I will not let your foolhardiness put my son at risk.” 

Wrathion wondered what he meant by “others,” but didn’t get the chance to find out. A guard approached and pulled closed the thick metal door, and the roar of battle gave way to thick, stifling silence.

_________________________


	3. Chapter 3

_________________________

As his gryphon swooped up an excessively-tall mountain on its way to the Veiled Stair, Anduin knew he must be dreaming. The Valley seemed to stretch for miles and miles to either side of him, growing fuzzy around the edges, as if his memory of the place only extended so far. The little details– the clunk-clunk of grummle pilgrims ascending the stairs below and the moist brush of mist against his face he had come to expect from this journey– had become dulled and distant. It was his thoughts and feelings that dominated his senses: the screaming ache of knees bent too long as they flew and his uncertainty about coming to the Tavern.

Was he making the wrong choice? The healers had mentioned other hot springs that weren’t so…occupied by subversive organizations and dragons from Deathwing’s lineage. Wouldn’t it have been easier to choose one of those? His father would have felt better about it, at least. He probably wouldn’t need so many guards if he hadn’t stubbornly put down his foot (for lack of a better expression) and said he was coming here. Would Anduin be able to sleep in an inn with a dragon? How was he supposed to feel comfortable enough to go to the bath with a potential enemy lurking around?

He didn’t remember landing, but suddenly, he was on the ground. Tong waited outside in the courtyard, though Anduin had to wonder how he knew his name. He had never seen this innkeeper before…right? Dreaming was a confusing venture.

“Young Prince Anduin,” Tong greeted, bowing his head. “Welcome to the Tavern in the Mist. Let me know how I can make you comfortable, and I will see that it is done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Anduin smiled, dismounting from his gryphon with Sandra’s aid. “Thank you for making room for me up here in your tavern. I’m sure you’re already quite busy.”

“Anything for the young hero of the Vale!” He stepped to the side, allowing Anduin’s guards to move past him. “Though, I should warn you that we haven’t informed our…current resident.” The pandaren seemed to consider this, before speaking up with resolution, “But they do not own this place, and they do not make the rules. I will not let them give you any trouble.” 

The innkeeper’s tone was a bit too nervous for the determined words he spouted, but Anduin nevertheless appreciated his kindness. Soon they were at the door, and Anduin heard his voice echoing inside. “We have an important guest who will be staying upstairs, Prince Wrathion. I trust that you will be polite and welcoming to him while he is with us. Remember that I am the owner of this inn…”

“Yes, yes, Tong,” a smooth voice quipped from the room beyond, sounding both intense and dismissive in ways Anduin couldn’t quite pin down. But wait, he knew that voice. He had spoken to this man several times. What was going on? Why couldn’t he remember its owner’s name?

“But you are blocking the view. Bring this important guest to me, and we will see to it that he is welcomed.”

“He is not your guest,” Tong rumbled. “He is here to recover from his injuries and use the fresh mountain air to his advantage. Give him the space he needs, young prince.”

And with that, the pandaren stepped aside and offered a glimpse into the tavern. At the back of the room, on a small, wooden bench, sat a man dressed in extravagant jewels and silks in some style Anduin didn’t recognize. His eyes blazed the same shade of red as his jewelry; his skin was a dark shade of brown that set off the whites and purples of his robe in striking contrast. So this was the Black Prince? In the dream, it seemed impossible to keep from staring.

The dragon’s eyes widened, and he leaned back on the bench as if to study him in more detail. “Prince Anduin Wrynn,” he all but purred. Had he sounded so…so flirty last time? Anduin knew there had been a last time, but he couldn’t quite pin down…

The world around him seemed to bump and shake, and suddenly he was upstairs.

He was watching a row of grummles file out of his room, their heads bobbing as they turned the corner and shuffled down the steps. They had been asking him questions about the Vale, and, though it was difficult to understand their words from time to time, it really had been a pleasant experience. He leaned back on his bench; he tried to stretch out his leg, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite move it. He heard another pair of footsteps making its way up the stairs.

After a moment, a familiar head peeked around the corner. The dragon’s turban tilted slightly. A piece of loose fabric tumbled down past his ear, swaying as he finished taking the last few steps. “Permission to speak to your Highness?” His smile seemed familiar, but his voice was formal in a way that didn’t quite make sense. Why was Wrathion acting like they barely knew each other?

“Yes, of course, Wrathion. Come in.” He waved him towards the empty bench flanking the table’s other side. Behind him, Sandra and Michael tensed. Their armor clanked, and they took a few steps closer to Anduin’s back. Sunwalker Dezco seemed to sit up a little higher at his other side. Now he was thoroughly confused. Was he meeting Wrathion for the first time, or was this simply one visit of many? Several months’ worth of memories felt like a blur. 

He stared down at his lap, lost in thought and the folds of overlapping moments he couldn’t parse through, until Wrathion dropped a stack of books on the table in front of him. There was a thud, and Anduin jolted up with a start. “What are these?” He asked. He hadn’t meant to sound so suspicious, but the voice leaving his mouth didn’t feel like his own.

Wrathion, however, seemed undeterred. He gave his hand an offhanded flick, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “It gets _so_ boring up here in the mountains, you see. I thought you might enjoy some books when you run out of grummles to talk to.”

“Oh, uh,” Anduin smiled, sheepishly. “Thanks, Prince Wrathion. I do enjoy reading.”

But as he watched Wrathion circle around the table and take the seat across from him, he felt like there was something else he needed to say. He hadn’t just come to the inn to recover from his injuries, had he? That’s what he had told his father…but there was something else. Cool, lavender eyes. Emotionless eyes matte with their inability to make their own choices. But those weren’t the eyes that watched him from the other bench. These eyes were bright and alive with belief, passion, ideals, curiosity– red and warm in the lamplight like a fire crackling beneath his lashes. Anduin blushed, forcing himself to look away. 

He picked up one of the books and held it open in front of him. He couldn’t focus on the words, but somehow he seemed to know instinctively what they said. _The Saurok and the Jinyu._ And the one that had been sitting below it, _The General and the Grummle._ A quick survey of the stack revealed more of the same: Pandaren children’s books, a sin’dorei romance novel, a human spy novel, and what looked to be a history book about Arathor and the Troll Wars. Each was read so many times that the pages were bent and stained, and the romance novel was even coming apart at the binding from over-use. _Does he really_ read _these?_ Anduin asked himself, even though the answer was all-to-obvious. What a strange dragon this “Black Prince” was shaping up to be. 

From downstairs, he heard, and felt, a loud crash, and suddenly something bit his finger. “Wake up, Anduin!” The prince hissed. _Why is he all the way down there? He’s standing right in front of me!_ But still, it persisted. “Come on, Anduin. Wake up!”

_________________________

It had taken nearly two hours for Anduin to fall asleep, but when he finally did, it was nearly impossible to wake him. Wrathion had heard an arrow ricochet off the side of the palanquin, and was now hissing his name and resorting to any kind of gesture he could make from the human’s lap to draw his attention: his nipped at his fingertips, he nudged at his thigh. He even gave his tabard a tug that left tiny holes along the hem. But Anduin merely kept dreaming and stroking his head like he was some kind of kitten.

He bit down harder on his finger, a bit ashamed when he tasted the metallic tang of blood, but he was desperate. Anduin murmured, but only shook him off subconsciously. He struggled to keep from getting annoyed. 

Outside he heard– felt, really– the hum of lightning, followed by a thunderous crash of weapon against metal armor. The palanquin bumped and shook, and the cart that was hauling them halted in its tracks. Wrathion nearly slid off Anduin’s lap onto the floor. The human prince lurched forward, but immediately snapped back up into place. “Wrathion!” He let out a bleary moan. “I said I’d meet with you...”

He didn’t have time to wonder what that was all about. He crawled up the front of Anduin’s robe and curled up on his left shoulder, leaning in to whisper. “Keep your voice down! We’re under attack.”

Anduin whipped his head around. Again, Wrathion had to keep himself from sliding off his perch. He dug his claws into Anduin’s pauldrons, all but hanging from them when another thunderous crash rocked the cart that contained them.

After what felt like ages of muffled sounds and arrows knocking against the corners of the box, they heard a rap at the door. Someone seemed to be fumbling with the lock; it clanked and scratched with the unmistakable nudge of a pick. They both turned to stare at it, unsure what they should do, what they could do, from within the tiny box. Wrathion readied a blast of fire as the door swung open.

“Gotta go, sir.” Wait, Wrathion knew that voice.

A furry paw extended into the palanquin, all but pulling Anduin to his feet. “I don’t have my cane,” he whispered nervously, but the worgen persisted. He leaned in to look at them, or, that’s what Wrathion thought, until he realized his agent had been shot full of arrows and was now slumping against the box in one last attempt to aid him. Maybe he should have put more trust in Duncan, he found himself thinking as he flew out the door to land beside him on the edge of the cart. 

The rogue’s fur was matted with blood; it stained his blue-and-brown armor and clung to his mane in thick clumps. But when he fell against the steel edge of the palanquin Wrathion didn’t have time to regret it. He transformed into his human body, offering the stumbling human prince an arm for support and using his free hand to tug him away from the dying worgen. There was no time for that. Duncan didn’t use his last moments to free them so they could wait by his corpse to be captured. 

Their eyes met, and Anduin seemed to understand, fashioning the ball of light he had been summoning between his fingers to heal the worgen into shields for them, instead. Wrathion nodded, and all but pulled him down from the cart. 

The ground beneath his feet was thick and muddy. He had never been to Krasarang Wilds, but it took only moments to satisfy his every expectation. The air was so heavy with heat and mist that running through it felt like swimming, and with the weight of Anduin on his arm it was all he could manage to keep upright. He ducked behind a tangled knot of roots, using the cool grasp of earth and wood to get his bearings. 

Beyond the cart a battle raged on. He could make out at least three Horde champions: the tauren shaman he had heard earlier was vanquishing a cluster of Stormwind guards with every swing of her hammer, and the orc who had been shooting the arrows directed her boar at a warrior wielding a silver sword. There was also a goblin priest aiming dark purple blasts at his fallen agent, who twisted and writhed in a heap beside a shattered wheel. 

Had this goblin seen them escaping out the back? He couldn’t risk it. Easing Anduin down behind him, he focused inward, reaching down into the earth and rocketing spikes in her direction. “Heal me if I get injured,” he whispered. After another muddy blast, he crawled up onto the root and summoned a void zone at her feet. She turned to him, but with a wave of his hand the ground curled up around her and silenced her mouth. She choked; her head bobbed forward. He called down a rain of fire from the sky to distract the rest of the group from her death.

Anduin had crawled over on his hands and knees, and was now aiming smiting blasts into the fray. Wrathion considered telling him to stop– it really wouldn’t do to have both of them captured– but knew that the human would do what he wanted, regardless. For someone who seemed almost shy at times, he was certainly foolhardy. He reached over and nudged his shoulder; Anduin took the hint and blasted the shaman with disorienting white light. 

But the flash drew the attention of someone Wrathion hadn’t noticed: a frost mage, who had been shooting ice lances through another guard to the left of their vehicle. He looked up; Wrathion reacted without hesitation, summoning copies of himself to scatter around the front of the tree. The mage aimed blast after blast into their chests, but each one faded into the air, giving him a chance to get closer. He readied his dragon fire, prepared to blast a fiery hole in the goblin’s chest, but then–

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice behind him hissed. Everything happened too quickly. The ground beneath him shook; he stumbled, and frost closed in around his ankles, choking and burning them through the thin silk of his pants. He felt numb, so painfully numb, the air around him frigid and dense. He could only watch in horror as an undead rogue jabbed his dagger up under Anduin’s neck; Anduin tried to twist away, but with every jerk a new droplet of blood trailed down the curve of his exposed skin. Wrathion snarled. A green hand tugged at the top of his head.

“What do we have? Two little humans?” The hunter grunted. 

Wrathion tried to twist his head around to look at her, but his neck ached from the blast of frost that had hit him squarely between the shoulders. If he could only set this orc on fire, he might be able to make a run for Anduin. It wouldn’t be too difficult to break through the ice binding his feet. He could pull back the earth beneath it if he had to…but no, not while the rogue held his knife at Anduin’s neck. One wrong move, and the blood would flow from beneath its edge. He had to try a new strategy. 

He dusted off the front of his shirt and forced his shoulder blades to relax down his back. “I think there has been some kind of mistake here,” he all but cooed. “You see, I’m the–”

“Black Prince!” The shaman quipped from his right. He nodded slightly in her direction. “Your Majesty, I didn’t recognize you without your hat. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.” The tauren approached them, waving her weapon pointedly in his direction. For a split second he prepared for an attack, but then he realized she was gesturing towards a socket situated just above the hilt of the mace. “See, I fought for you at Lion’s Landing. Do you remember?”

Wrathion turned his head away from Anduin at the mention of Lion’s Landing. Of all the things he didn’t want the human hearing right now, that probably was close to the top of the list. But he started to get his confidence back, immediately turning the situation to his advantage. “Of course, of course. I could never forget a shaman as skilled with a hammer as you are, mighty champion. And if you release my friend and I here, you will receive ample compensation upon our return to the Ta–”

“Holy shit,” the mage’s voice broke through the air to his left. Wrathion wrinkled his nose, trying his best to ignore the goblin in favor of the more agreeable tauren standing to his other side. But he persisted, making his way over to Anduin. Wrathion chanced another glance in the human’s direction; thankfully, the drips of blood on his neck seemed to be drying. 

“If this is Prince Wrathion,” he gestured wildly. “I bet this pink-skin here is King Varian’s son.”

A collective gasp filled the air around him. The hand on his head tightened; the rogue holding Anduin must have pressed in with the knife, because the human let out a strangled gasp. Wrathion had to think quickly.

“Why are you traveling with Anduin, sir?” The tauren was clearly trying to sound calm, but even she was starting to look agitated. “Is this some kind of mistake, or…?”

“Who I pass my time with is none of your concern, champion.” He studied Anduin’s face, trying to communicate the truth with his eyes while his mouth lied to save them. “My plans will become known to you soon, but for now you should not–”

But the goblin threw in a crass laugh, seemingly unable to keep his mouth shut for more than a few seconds. “Haven’t you heard the rumors, Pakuna? He’s courting this little _prince_ here. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“That’s, that’s not…!” Anduin made a few strangled sounds, but it wasn’t enough to distract the group from the mage’s proclamation. The rogue’s fingers clenched against Anduin’s neck to silence him, and the hunter grabbed Wrathion’s hair so hard that a piece ripped with a sting from his scalp. He set his lips into an unyielding sneer, knowing any show of pain or weakness would only bring them more trouble. But it was hard to keep still with an orc yanking mercilessly at his head, and a sharp exhale escaped in spite of his efforts.

Beside him the tauren, Pakuna, looked shocked but, surprisingly, not altogether alarmed. “Is that true, your Majesty?” She prompted. 

Wrathion met her eyes with a mysterious stare. “If that _were_ true, I would think a skilled champion such as yourself would realize how great a reward I would offer to return with him safely to the Veiled Stair. If you let us walk free–”

“Yeah, no,” the mage cut in. Damn this meddling goblin! “You’ve got nothin’ to match the welcome we’ll get when we drag him through the gates at Domination Point. You’re free to go, but the boy stays.”

“Free to go?” The orc above him growled. He had thought her grip couldn’t get any harder, but he had been mistaken. He quickly suppressed a wince. “He killed Lyxy. He travels with one of our greatest foes–”

“Yes, he is clearly _such_ a threat,” Wrathion rolled his eyes. He could feel Anduin shooting him a “look” but he didn’t glance over to meet it. There was no time for weakness or bickering right now. “I apologize wholeheartedly for the death of your friend, but my agent also lost his life in the battle. Let’s call the conflict even, and go our separate ways.”

“Fine. You go, but he stays.”

“That is not an option I’m willing to entertain, hunter.” He caught the goblin looking around the group with a knowing smile plastered across his lips, but did his best to ignore it. “I am sure my champion Pakuna here will explain to you the benefits I can offer to those who cooperate with my plan–”

“No can do, prince. Not with this precious cargo you’re haulin’ today. You can leave right now, but your _friend_ here stays with us. Right, Raila?” 

The hunter nodded. Wrathion let out a dramatic sigh. While breaking from the group might offer the chance to catch them off guard, he didn’t feel comfortable letting Anduin out of his sight with the undead rogue bearing down on him as he was. He would have to find a way to work within the group, which was fine: Wrathion was an expert manipulator. As soon as he retrieved his turban, he could contact his guards and help would be on the way. All he needed was a few hours…

“I hope you have a spare mount. Prince Anduin is unable to cover long distances on foot, you see. It might be better for us to wait here while a few of you go for backup.”

“He’ll walk.” The rogue hissed beneath his mask. His eyes glowed in their deep, bony sockets.

“Then he is going to need my assistance.” 

“No,” Raila rumbled above him. “Deryn will drag him.”

Wrathion could feel his exasperation mounting. Why did orcs have to be so stubborn? He shot Anduin an apologetic look; the human’s brows were knit with worry, and he had clenched his jaw in a clear attempt to level his frown. This had just gone from bad to worse, and he needed to work quickly and free them before they did any lasting damage to the human’s leg. Anduin would only last a few hours, and even then, every footstep would be excruciating. He felt a pang in his chest but refused to let it show on his face.

“Fine. Just let me fetch my turban, and we can be on our way.”

_________________________

Jaina held the transmission disk in her hand, extending arcane energy into the runes inscribed on its face until they lit up in brilliant shades of blue. It hummed with energy in her palms, quivering, as if it had taken on a life of its own. But it was her power that slithered into the crevices and lit up the air, reading the sound waves from her own breath to be reproduced by the other device several continents away.

She waited for a response from the other end; each passing moment made her pulse race a bit harder. Reports of the nighttime attack on Halfhill had reached Dalaran by early morning, and she had stood in Runeweaver Square for the next four hours receiving visitors from the Vale in hopes that one of them could recount the damages they had seen there. She had prepared to leave for the Shrine only to hear that the fighting had ended and Varian and his troops were on their way to Lion’s Landing. She would meet them there in a few hours, but there were questions that couldn’t wait: What were the damages? Were Lor’themar and the Sunreavers involved in the destruction? Had Vereesa, Anduin, and the other people she cared about emerged from the battle unharmed?

Of course, she had expected no less from the Horde. She had discouraged Varian from attending the festival, in fact, urging that at least _he_ should stay in Lion’s Landing. She had known that Garrosh and his troops wouldn’t respect the pandaren community’s plea for neutrality, and they had not fallen short of those expectations. If only they had stopped this before it started: the Alliance could have held a celebration of their own, and nobody would have been harmed in the process. But Varian seemed to believe there was a chance at reconciliation, at least with the sin’dorei and the trolls: Why did he have to choose now, while Azeroth crumbled under the Horde’s destruction, to bring out this fresh burst of optimism? The Varian who had screamed at Garrosh from across the Argent Tournament grounds felt like a man from a different lifetime.

A voice rippled through the transmitter in her hand; it was not Varian, as she had been expecting, but Vereesa. “Jaina?”

“Vereesa? What happened this morning?”

Behind her, she felt Kalecgos set aside the books and turn to listen to the transmission. Vereesa’s voice swelled through the runes streaming in front of them. “As you expected, the Horde attacked during the night. They set several farms on fire and slaughtered the guards they drew out to meet them. We killed or captured about two dozen attackers, but more escaped for the Vale before they could be brought to justice.”

“Two dozen? How many attacked?”

She turned her head to look at Kalecgos. He wore the same confused expression on his face that she felt in her heart. Why had Garrosh sent so few troops for an attack on an Alliance camp? It seemed arrogant, even for him. Had he used another goblin-built monstrosity to lead the charge? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that.

“There were only about fifty of them. They seemed intent on winning support in the Horde camp before attacking us, but thankfully few champions rose to support them. Varian witnessed the questioning of several prisoners before we left the Valley. I will take the transmitter to him so he can explain what we have learned.”

“Yes, Vereesa, thank you.”

Jaina turned and paced past Kalecgos to sit on the corner of her bed, rotating the disk in a circle between her fingers as she waited for answers from the other end. This didn’t sound like a planned attack, at least not one about which the Horde leaders had been informed, but they had played this trick in the past and she couldn’t let herself trust the apparent resistance, disinterest, or whatever had kept the Horde champions from joining the assault. Varian had discussed a revolution, but was it all a clever ploy to bring the Alliance closer to them for a final battle? It would be better to deal with Garrosh on their own, swiftly, and decisively. Trying to parse through Horde politics might put them off their guard, and the last thing they needed was another Horde trick to–

“Jaina?” Varian’s voice sounded tired. It rumbled and hummed through the transmitter; the runes were now coming in longer strings, reflecting the change in frequency. Kalecgos sat down beside her. 

“Varian, what has the Horde done this time? How many more people died at their hands?”

She could almost feel Varian shaking his head on the other end. “They say this wasn’t official military action, but a group of ‘loyal supporters’ of Garrosh and his ideals who acted on their own to please the Warchief.”

“Absurd! Another Horde lie to add to the–”

“There were more casualties in the Horde camp than ours. They started there, and it wasn’t until they failed to win support that they turned their efforts to luring away our guards. As we were departing we passed a row of troll corpses being burned on the outskirts of town.”

Jaina stared down at the transmitter, a mix of confusion and frustration twisting her lips into a scowl. “So what you’re saying is that it was a Horde-led attack to kill other Horde? But it could have been a scheme to draw us into their camp and crush us from there. Garrosh has no respect for the lives of anyone, even within his own faction. It wouldn’t surprise me if it were all a plot to overthrow us as soon as we opened ourselves to support their ‘resistance.’ We just can’t trust them.”

She felt Kalecgos rest his hand against her leg, but she ignored it, too intent on stopping this Horde treachery to yield to his urging. She had spent her entire life erring towards the side of diplomacy; diplomacy had been the death of her city, her people. It had killed Rhonin and almost cost Anduin his life, as well. She loved the blue dragon, but that didn’t mean she had to put on a show of calm to satisfy him. Not at a time like this.

“Trust me, Jaina. We considered that,” Varian’s voice crackled; it sounded as if the Alliance caravan was on the move once again. She could hear the neighs of horses being mounted in the background. “But they seemed to have a hit list, and it echoed these new developments in Orgrimmar the Darkspear described to me yesterday. Plan or no plan, I don’t think Vol’jin would allow his entire race to be slaughtered just to lure us into a trap.”

“So the trolls were on the list?”

“Yes, all of them. And orc warlocks, which should come as no surprise. You and I were likewise included, of course, along with ‘all Alliance,’ supporters of Sylvanas, and the Black Prince.”

The last name on the list seemed to pique Kalec’s interest, but it brought a chill to Jaina’s spine; she fumbled with the device in her hand, lifting it closer to her face so she could whisper, “Was Anduin with him when it happened? Did he make it out unharmed?”

“They both made it out unharmed. We evacuated them together. They should have arrived at Lion’s Landing a few hours ago, and we haven’t received any reports to the contrary.”

“That…” She was surprised to hear that Varian had taken an interest in the dragon’s safety, but decided it best not to question him about it. Hearing that Anduin had escaped was enough to set one of her concerns at ease, at least, though she would feel better when she saw him whole and a healthy in Lion’s Landing at the end of the day.

“Wrathion is a powerful dragon, even at his age,” Kalecgos seemed to sense her concern; he tightened his grasp on Jaina’s thigh in a gesture of support. Varian seemed to hear him, because he fell silent, waiting for him to continue. “It was a wise decision to send them together.”

Jaina only hoped he was right. If Anduin suffered any further injury because she hadn’t put an end to Garrosh and his supporters when she had had the chance, she wasn’t sure she could forgive herself.

_________________________

With every passing hour, Anduin was coming to appreciate Krasarang Wilds less and less. The heat was as heavy as water in the air, plastering his hair to his forehead and bearing down onto his chest until he found it hard to breathe. The branches overhead, which Anduin had once found stunningly beautiful, shielded the sun from view; the area they had been passing through for the last hour or so (it was hard to tell time under the trees) was as dark as night. They struggled to avoid roots and small animals that scuttled out onto the path from the thick growth lining the forest floor.

But it was walking itself that proved most difficult. Anduin’s leg screamed in pain– as sharp and vicious as the pain that had shot through his body when he laid on his healing bed after the crumbling of the Divine Bell, only this time there was no shock or healing spell to numb him. There was only ache: indescribable ache that stabbed from the sole of his foot to his knee with every step. Ache that forced him to stagger. Ache that reminded him that walking on the injury would set him back weeks in the healing process, and might even do damage that could not be reversed. But with the forsaken rogue (Deryn?) dragging him up with a knife at his throat, he could only squeeze closed his eyes and pray that he found the strength to stay upright.

And it seemed that, even in the darkest heart of the forest, the Light had come to his aid. Just when he felt himself giving in to the pain and slumping forward into a heap, the party had abruptly stopped. Apparently the goblin, Kleexle, and the hunter, Raila, had been arguing for some time about the risks and benefits of pausing for lunch, but the sound of their voices had been mostly lost under the heavy weight of jungle air. But Kleexle had finally won; they circled around a clearing and set to work building a fire. 

Anduin was unsurprised when Deryn made no move to allow him to join the others in roasting the slabs of ribs they pulled off a panther. At this point, he was just grateful for a chance to sit down. He looked at his pants: The front of his right leg was caked with mud from the boot to the calf. Had the rogue really been dragging him that much? His stomach sank.

Across the fire, he met Wrathion’s eyes. The dragon had taken a seat on the only stump in the clearing, and was clearly waiting for their Horde captors to bring him his food. And Anduin had little doubt in his mind that they would do it; he had shown no sign of resistance for hours, and had, in typical Wrathion fashion, somehow won the admiration of all of them (except, perhaps, the orc) within the first few minutes of their journey. He had occasionally shot Anduin regretful looks when he heard him stumbling behind him or caught the forsaken hissing cruel words into his ear, but otherwise had made no move to help. Anduin tried his best not to lose hope– surely this was part of Wrathion’s plan, right?– but watching him chat with the others as if nothing was amiss was making it difficult. 

Wrathion must have seen some hint of despair in his eyes, because, after offering him a tiny frown, he finally spoke up. “I assume you’re going to feed the prince, at least?”

“No,” Raila grunted. “He’s a prisoner.”

“Ah, yes,” Wrathion was quick to respond; sometimes Anduin couldn’t help but admire his skills at rhetoric, as artificial as Anduin knew they were. “But you see, he hasn’t eaten for hours, and his strength is already wearing thin. If he doesn’t eat something soon–”

“It isn’t our fault Varian’s seed produced such a weak crop,” Raila cut him off.

“– he will become more of a burden for you, champions, and will delay our arrival at Domination Point by several hours.”

Instead of answering Wrathion’s request, Kleexle responded to Raila “You know, he looks nothing like the king. Must take after his dead mom.”

If Anduin wasn’t already in so much pain, he would have rolled his eyes. The comment was clearly meant as an insult, but he had no idea what was supposed to be insulting about it. Yes, he had heard for years that he took after his mother and yes, that probably had something to do with why his father tended to be over-protective, but it certainly wasn’t something he was embarrassed about. He was just happy to keep her legacy alive. 

But Wrathion, who stole another glance in Anduin’s direction, must have taken the physical pain on his face for an emotional response, because he scrambled to redirect the conversation. “But you haven’t explained why the Horde pursued me during their raid on Halfhill, Kleexle. Surely a goblin with such whit and ingenuity must have heard something of the rumors that have sullied my good name…”

The goblin let out a guffaw. The tauren, Pakuna, took a seat on the ground beside Wrathion’s stump, hugging her knees to her chest. She glanced between them, clearly taking an interest in this shift in topic. The goblin nodded at her and continued, “Well, I mean, I told you all the ‘rumors’ I’ve heard, which, turns out, weren’t really rumors at all. So, yeah, everyone’s mad you’re spending time with Varian’s boy.”

“Who I spend my personal time with isn’t anyone’s concern but my own,” Wrathion pointed out. His tone remained smooth, but Anduin, having heard him rise to anger more times than he could count, could hear an edge that probably escaped their captors’ notice. 

“But you have to admit it looks bad. I mean, you say you’re neutral but then force your Horde champions to speak with you while in the company of this human?” Kleexle shook his head. “It’s insulting. And if you’re really bedding the heir to the Alliance…”

“My political views and my interest in Anduin Wrynn are mutually exclusive issues. Anyone who listens to my words will know–”

“So you really expect us to believe you would see his faction overthrown by your champions and do nothing to stop it?”

“If it were to save Azeroth, yes, I would.”

Anduin’s stomach, once groaning and cavernous, now twisted in knots. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading, but all he could do was lean back in spite of himself against his forsaken guard and watch it unfold. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it got caught on the blade bearing down on him. 

“And if Garrosh killed your _friend_ ’s dad, would you feel bad? What would you say to him when he cried?” 

“I–”

“And if the Horde delivers the prince’s body to your doorstep, huh? What of your war?”

“That is none of your business,” Wrathion snapped. Ire crept into his voice, but as quickly as it had come, he had stifled it; he folded his shaking fingers into a neat tent in his lap. “But come now, let’s not speak of such troublesome issues. I have been nothing but cooperative with you fine champions during the hours we’ve spent together. I have rewarded you and your people generously during my endeavors,” he gestured to Pakuna, who met him with the faintest hint of a smile, “I have ceased struggling, and have aided you in your journey to Domination Point–” 

“Only when we held a knife to your boyfriend’s neck,” Raila grunted. Wrathion continued as if he hadn’t heard her; his patience with Raila had worn thin hours ago.

“–And yet you still question my loyalties. It seems quite unfair to me, don’t you think?”

“Oh, but it isn’t all of us, your Majesty. Just the orcs, really,” Pakuna looked up at him. From across the fire, Anduin could see Raila’s eyes narrowing into a scowl, but this didn’t deter the shaman from her attempt to soothe the dragon. “I think a lot of them assume that you’ve been criticizing Garrosh, but things in the Horde are complicated right now, and any suggestion of dissent is met with immediate action. You aren’t the only one to face unjust charges.”

“He is bedding the Alliance prince,” Raila growled, all but throwing the spit she was using to turn the ribs down into the fire. Anduin could only wince and pray that his cheeks weren’t as hot on the outside as they felt from within. He remembered his father’s warnings about discretion: Why wasn’t Wrathion doing anything to deny these rumors? Was he really arrogant enough to think he could deter them from judging his choices, or was this a taste of the ‘honesty’ he claimed to value so much?

But in light of his previous comments, Anduin couldn’t bear to follow that train of thought.

Pakuna shook her head, the beads at the ends of her mane rattling against her chest piece. “I guess we’re all a bit confused about that one, your Majesty. I mean, I’m sure you could have your pick of partners if you wanted. It’s just a bit strange that you chose one of _them_ after supporting us in our attacks on Lion’s Landing. It just seems strange…”

Wrathion’s expression remained unflinching. He merely sighed, fixing his eyes on the food roasting in front of them, and gestured offhandedly in Anduin’s direction. “Even if what you’re saying about us _were_ true, you must realize I have my reasons–” 

“If you want to get laid, get laid. We’re not gonna stop you,” Kleexle laughed. “But don’t expect us to be happy about it.”

Anduin must have squirmed unintentionally, because the pressure against his neck deepened. A choked sound escaped his lips, and Raila whirled around to stare at him. Her silhouette cut an imposing figure against the flames, and her shadow faded into the darkness that surrounded Anduin and his warden. “We’ll see where his true loyalties lie when this child’s head is mounted on a spike,” she bared her teeth with a snarl. “We’ll see how ‘neutral’ the dragon stays when we get to Domination Point.”

Deryn chuckled behind him. It echoed, raspy, in his hollow chest cavity, and rattled under his rotting cheeks. The smell of undeath was becoming unbearable, and as it, like the pressure on his neck, increased, he had to fight the urge to gag. He hoped Wrathion would make a move soon, because his ability to reach out to the Light was becoming more and more strained. He wouldn’t be much help in a fight if he couldn’t even catch his breath. 

Wrathion didn’t react; Pakuna was the only one in the group who looked alarmed. “The High Chieftain has spoken highly of Prince Wrynn. Maybe we should stop at Thunder Cleft and seek advice before proceeding to Domination Point where tempers are high.” 

She passed Wrathion a slab of ribs with a slight nod. He removed his gloves before accepting it, wrapping his clawed fingers around the ends of the bones. “As I have said countless times in the past,” he directed his gaze to Raila, who now had her back turned to him, “I have yet to decide who I will support in this war.” He cast Pakuna a sidelong glance, “But it is becoming increasingly difficult to imagine Hellscream leading all of Azeroth while he can’t even hold his own faction together.”

“And you wonder why his followers despise you?” Raila finally turned away from Anduin, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You are a fool, little whelp.” 

“While we’re speaking of foolish decisions, your Warchief’s choice to slaughter every warlock in Orgrimmar was rash, to say the least.”

“Hah,” Kleexle snickered with a full mouth. 

Raila paced around the fire with her crossbow cocked in her hand. “And you say you fight against the Legion? You should be celebrating the deaths of orc heretics, not mourning their loss.”

“I am doing neither,” Wrathion, again, started to sound a bit edgy; annoyance twitched at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes narrowed. “I regret the loss of strong fighters with the ability to control our demon foes, and I question your Warchief’s judgment in ostracizing his own people. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Would you have him sit there like a bump on a log while the dissenters plot against him, then?” In contrast to Raila, Kleexle’s tone was inquisitive, almost amused. “Who do you think he is, Varian Wrynn?”

“Varian Wrynn has his own problems,” Wrathion admitted, ripping off meat from the bone with his sharp teeth. He chewed, his nose wrinkling slightly before he managed to swallow. “Which is why I have not made my decision about who–”

“Problems? Hah! That’s an understatement.” Kleexle peeked around the pile of wood so he could cast a sneer in Anduin’s direction. The rogue who held him laughed again, filling the air with his putrid stench. If they hadn’t been handling him so roughly, Anduin might have felt guilty about gagging. Deryn seemed to notice, and laughed again for good measure.

“The Alliance can blame the orcs all they want, but they’ve caused more trouble for Azeroth through their negligence these past few years than Hellscream ever will. Look at their loose treatment of Illidan and how much trouble he caused.” Kleexle’s words were met with approval from the group; even Pakuna nodded slowly. “And Arthas–” 

“As I’ve already said,” Wrathion tried to cut in. Anduin stared at him, wondering why his eyes were so wide. He had said pretty much the same thing to him last night– was that really last night? It felt like an eternity ago– and had to know that Anduin would do a better job of holding himself together in public. There was no reason for the dragon to look so…frightened. He hoped he could see him shaking his head in the shadows. “As I’ve already said, the Alliance has its own problems, and negligence is certain one of them, but–”

But Kleexle was undeterred. He spoke louder to drown out Wrathion’s hasty protests. “And Arthas sat up on his throne until his ghouls showed up on Varian’s doorstep. Bet the king couldn’t _bear_ to think of going up to Northrend to fight his old buddy.”

_Father wasn’t even_ on _the throne until after the Scourge attacks,_ he wanted to yell, but the knife at his throat only allowed him a tiny grunt of protest. Surely Wrathion would correct them; he knew all too well why the king hadn’t been able to react to the Lich King’s advances. 

But Wrathion seemed more interested in derailing the conversation than correcting historical inaccuracies, for some reason. “Yes, yes, but nothing can be gained from arguing about something with which we both agree, dear mage.” Anduin felt a twinge of irritation: How could Wrathion say he agreed with a blatant lie? What was he playing at here? “But the issue at hand is political turmoil in the Horde and how it will affect–” 

“And what about the new Lich King, hm? Isn’t that another one of Wrynn’s old buddies? Funny how the Alliance churns out one villain after another.”

_New_ Lich King? What on earth was this goblin talking about? 

Wrathion’s eyes grew impossibly wide. His pursed lips paled; they looked almost lavender as he drew in a shaky breath. “Let’s not–”

“What was his name again? Hey, kid, what was that guy’s name?”

Anduin opened his mouth to admit that he had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but Raila cut in before he could choke out an answer: “Bolvar Fordragon. He fought against Dranosh’s army at the Wrathgate.”

Oh no. There had to be some mistake here. Bolvar died; Anduin had attended his funeral. He had placed flowers on his grave every year on the anniversary of his death. How could such an absurd rumor take root in the Horde? He shook his head violently. The knife nicked his skin, opening up old wounds that had finally started to scab over. A drop of blood trickled down onto his chest, but neither the sting of his wound or the wetness rolling under his collar dampened his need to protest. “T-that’s not–” 

But when he looked at Wrathion, the words he had struggled to produce died in his mouth. The dragon’s eyes brimmed with regret. His skin had blanched from sable to ash, and his nails dug into the ribs he held, forgotten, in his fingers, until the meat started to flake from the bone. He shook his head ever-so-slightly; his lips formed a silent apology. _I’m sorry, Anduin…_ He managed to make out. His heart plummeted in his chest. 

No. What was Wrathion thinking? This couldn’t be true. He hadn’t prayed over an empty casket at the funeral five years ago. No. Bolvar was dead. Why was Wrathion playing along with this? It couldn’t…he couldn’t…

“Hah, look at him!” The goblin gasped, glancing between Wrathion, who was shaking his head, and Anduin, who could only stare in horror as the voices around him burst into laughter. “Look at the kid, Raila. He didn’t know!” 

Anduin mustered up a weak voice to protest their jeers, though it was more for his benefit than theirs. “N-no, you see…I,” he coughed slightly. “I-I went to his funeral…”

“I heard the story from an orc who saw the Lich King fall,” Raila’s eyes flashed as the flames flickered and danced at her feet. Kleexle gave a small ‘hm’ of approval. “Your father lied to you, boy. The King of Stormwind is a coward and a fraud.”

Even under the weight of Krasarang’s heat, a wave of cold washed over Anduin’s body. It started beneath his hair, stripping his lips of feeling and freezing the skin beneath the rogue’s dagger, before it settled like a nauseous storm in the base of his stomach. His hands behind his back felt heavy and useless; his eyes stung with the prickle of tears that wouldn’t come. He felt like one of the Jade Witch’s statues: trapped, frozen in place, a look of fear and overwhelming regret plastered on his face. His mind flashed to Icecrown Citadel, a mansion of rime and horrors he had only imagined during fitful nights in his bed in Stormwind. Was Bolvar waiting at the top of its frigid peak? Was he, too, surrounded by a frost and the stench of undeath that sickened his stomach? Anduin struggled to breathe. He reached out for the Light, but only found pain and despair.

Bolvar had been like a father to him. More than a father, really, when his own father had disappeared and his mother lay lifeless in her grave. He had done his best to advise and guide him towards the right decisions even while Katrana struggled to enact her will. He used to tell him stories about his family’s heroism, his mother’s compassion; he had fostered in him a love for the Light and a belief in the goodness of his people, and now he sat like a villain on his icy throne. And no one– not his father, nor Jaina, nor even his own lover– had trusted him enough to tell him. He felt betrayed. Bitterly and hopelessly betrayed. 

“And if you’re such an expert on the matter, you would know that Fordragon volunteered so Tirion Fordring didn’t have to,” he dimly heard Wrathion say. But he found no comfort in his words, not while images of Bolvar twisted and tortured by demonic power or whatever it was binding him to the Frozen Throne burned in his mind. His heart ached, but no sobs nor cries rose in his chest as they had the night before. He only felt cold and numb, immobile, like a shell of the person he used to be.

He felt like nothing would ever make sense again.

It wasn’t until Anduin sensed the heat of another person beside him that the numbness clinging to his skin started to prickle away. He didn’t need to turn his head to know it was Wrathion. He listened to the dragon’s familiar breaths and the rattle of his armor as he reached behind him and nudged something into the forsaken’s other hand. “Anduin,” he whispered, taking a seat beside him. The human couldn’t find the strength in him to react. “Try to eat a few bites of this before those fools return. It isn’t very good, but you’ll need your strength to proceed.”

He shook his head, but this didn’t stop Wrathion from pressing a rib against his lips. Its charred scent burned his nostrils and flipped his stomach, but he finally yielded to the dragon’s urging and parted his lips. It tasted like ash in his mouth. He struggled to swallow, even though he found that the pressure on his neck had lessened significantly.

After a few bites, the world around him started to register once again. Deryn had indeed eased up his hold on his neck so that Anduin could eat and breathe without hindrance. Raila and Kleexle were missing (scouting for the road, Anduin thought, for some reason, though he couldn’t remember hearing them say it) and Pakuna remained by the fire, watching them pensively but making no gesture of resistance. He expected Wrathion to start his attack, but he merely sat by his side, averting his gaze politely whenever Anduin struggled to pull the meat from the bone. 

_Why didn’t you tell me?_ Part of Anduin wanted to scream. At a different time, under different circumstances, he would have stormed out of the room over most of the comments Wrathion had made today, but most of all over the revelation of this painful secret he had kept from him. But now, while his whole body ached and dread smothered every last flicker of light from his chest, all he could do was cling to the presence beside him and imagine himself disappearing into his embrace: an embrace that always managed to chase away the fear in his heart no matter how many doubts remained in his mind. 

But he had to settle for the gentle weight of Wrathion’s chest against his arm as he reached his free hand behind him to wrap around his bound wrists. He gave them a squeeze; the warmth of his fingers encompassed them, and Anduin felt the bite of his iron chains starting to dull. The rogue coughed pointedly, and, when the dragon withdrew his hand, he discovered that the fetters had, indeed, started to yield, giving him room to move and twist his arms. The rogue coughed again. Wrathion shot him a pointed look.

There was a plan. Wrathion had a plan.

Deep within his chest, he felt the faintest glimmer of hope returning to light his path. This would all be over soon, he tried to tell himself. His breaths came easier. It would all be over and he could return to Lion’s Landing with Wrathion and he could get to the bottom of Bolvar’s disappearance and his father’s reasons for hiding it. It hurt, but still, in the forest’s sweltering heart, there must be hope. 

“Get up and move!” Kleexle called from across the clearing. “We found something over here.”

_________________________

“What do you mean they haven’t arrived?” Varian could feel his ire rising as he dismounted from his horse and made for the cluster of vindicators who had gathered to meet him at the gates. The events of the last day had left him feeling strained, but this final realization, his worst fears actualized, was enough to send him over the edge.

Of all the things, the evacuation had seemed so foolproof, so safe. But they had succeeded on the battlefield and traveled through the jungles without hindrance, and Anduin, the one he had desperately tried to protect, was gone. It felt like he was trapped in a nightmare– the more he did to shelter him, the more danger seemed to come his way. He shook his head violently. No. There must be some mistake. Anduin must be out there somewhere, lost, perhaps, but whole and waiting for someone to transport him back to base. He had to rally the troops. He had to send out search parties, escorts, an entire battalion if it came to that: anything to return Anduin to him.

“No, your Majesty. We have sent out scouts to search for the other evacuation vehicles, but only one–” 

“Why wasn’t I notified?” He growled, “We would have never returned if we knew Anduin was still out in the forest.” He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up appearances, and the dignified exterior he had built to hide his temper was starting to crack. 

Admiral Taylor flinched, bowing his head, “I apologize for our oversight, your Majesty. We were preparing a messenger before we received word that you had been spotted near the mines–”

“Never mind,” he drew in a deep breath, trying his best to stifle his frustration. Being angry at his troops wouldn’t bring Anduin back, he reminded himself, and time was of the essence. He stepped to the side and hurried towards the keep, gesturing for the admiral to follow. “Summon your best hunters,” he called to the crowd he left in his wake. “Prepare the gryphons. We must find Anduin before nightfall. This mission is of the highest priority.”

“Do you intend to join them, your Majesty?” Taylor asked after they crossed into the keep’s courtyard. 

Varian nodded curtly, passing off his traveling sacks to the line of guards who greeted him. “Tell me everything you know about the parties before I go. Any detail could make the difference.”

Taylor’s strained expression leveled; he stood at attention, shifting his register to answer the king’s command: “A party arrived at the ninth hour escorting a cart and palanquin. Four Alliance soldiers accompanied the transport: Lieutenant Clifton, Agent Kearnen, and two members of the Stormwind guard. The palanquin contained nothing but paperwork, and Clifton assured us that the cart transporting his Highness would arrive shortly.”

He paused. Varian nodded, prompting him to continue. “There was another agent with them, an orc of indeterminate affiliation. Kearnen described her as a ‘Blacktalon:’ a member of the Black Prince’s personal army. She wasn’t shackled, and seemed to travel of her own accord. We sent her to the guardhouse to stay until you arrived, but she disappeared within the hour.”

“Hm,” Varian grunted. The orc had disappeared? Was it possible she had some means of communicating with the dragon? Could trailing her lead them to the lost caravan? An orcish scent might be difficult to follow across the war-torn beach that surrounded their base, but the tracking dogs should be up to the task. 

“You look unsurprised, your Majesty,” Taylor’s tone was inquisitive, but he made no direct attempt to press the king for answers. Varian met his comment with silence, trying to decide how much information was necessary to ensure that their search was quick and efficient. Explaining that the Black Prince had accompanied Anduin might lead his agents to believe that the dragon himself had waylaid the missing parties, but for reasons that Varian couldn’t quite explain that solution seemed improbable. Untrustworthy as Wrathion certainly was, something Varian had glimpsed in his eyes last night coaxed him away from the obvious conclusion. No, this wasn’t the dragon’s doing. Sombody else was to blame. 

Together they ascended the stairs leading to the upper level of the keep, their boots banging against the wood beneath them in their haste. Finally, on the landing, Varian halted, turning to Taylor and addressing him in a low whisper, “Prince Wrathion is in Anduin’s company. They were together when the attack began. This information is strictly confidential, and should not derail our search in any way.”

Taylor’s eyes widened, “But your Majesty–”

“We must assume the dragon isn’t involved until we find evidence to the contrary. With any luck, we can trail the orc and locate both princes together. Remember, Taylor, this information is strictly confidential. Send out a command to all search parties that any person found in Anduin’s presence should be brought to us unharmed unless they put up a fight, but leave it at that. The last thing we need is dragon hysteria distracting the soldiers from finding my son.”

Varian could tell that the admiral disagreed with this decision, but his raised eyebrows were the only outward sign of his displeasure. “Yes, your Majesty.”

And with that, Varian charged into the main room of the keep, addressing his marshals with a forceful command. “Rally the troops! Anduin has disappeared.”

_________________________

“This way! Come on, get a move on,” Kleexle called to them from behind a pair of iron doors, left ajar by some previous adventurer or a mogu who had all but pulled one of them from the hinge in an effort to escape. Wrathion glanced over his shoulder; Anduin had slipped, and now the lower half of his pants and tabard were soaked through with swampy water from the river behind him. Deryn was hissing in his ear, and his expression looked utterly despondent as he slogged up over the riverbank and back onto the road. It took all of the dragon’s strength to bite back a snarl. He was counting the minutes until he could see this entire party dead at his feet.

If Left’s information was correct, these mogu ruins held several traps to keep them occupied until his Blacktalon arrived. While they were distracted, he and his two bodyguards– and hopefully Anduin, though that was becoming increasingly less probable with every labored step he was forced to take– could lead an ambush that would put them down before any news of their mission could reach Domination Point. All he had to do was pretend that the old Dojani prisons, rendered entirely useless the day champions freed the water spirit imprisoned here, actually had something to offer the Horde, and their captors’ death certificates would be sealed. 

It was all going according to plan. 

Well, almost.

Of all the insults Wrathion had expected from the loud-mouthed goblin or their orc leader, a discussion of Bolvar’s fate hadn’t been one of them. He hadn’t seen it coming until it was far too late to stop it, and now he was kicking himself for letting the secret slip. Anduin’s eyes were cold and empty. His head slumped forward with every step. He had become the picture of utter ambivalence: What use would he be in a fight while acting like one of the Lich King’s mindless Scourge? If he didn’t snap out of it soon, the take-over might present more challenges than Wrathion had anticipated.

His mind flashed to the human’s breath trembling against his lips as he tried to feed him. Wrathion felt a small stab in his chest despite every effort to ignore the feeling. No matter the complications, he would make this party pay for what they had done.

As he turned sideways and slipped through the crack in the doors, he focused his mind on the gem embedded in Left’s helm. He blinked, and suddenly he was seeing with different eyes to a different location several meters behind them. Left and Right were passing the tauren village Pakuna had mentioned during lunch. They ducked around one of the leather tents and crossed over to the other side of the road. Good, it wouldn’t be much longer, then.

_I’ll take them up to the pools,_ he filled Left’s head with his voice.

_Understood._

A crash at his side shook Wrathion from his momentary trance. Deryn was trying to shove Anduin through the doorway, and Anduin, unable to get a grip on the iron surface, looked ready to fall into the dirt. Without thinking about how the gesture would be perceived, Wrathion reached forward, catching him around the waist and helping him over the threshold. He caught the faintest hint of embarrassment in Anduin’s eye, and he gave the small of his back an encouraging pat. Any emotion other than hopelessness was a welcome sign, at this point.

“Stop,” Deryn hissed behind his mask, low enough so that only the two princes could hear him.

The dragon shook his head: Did this slobbering fool _honestly_ think he had a chance at becoming one of Wrathion’s guards? “My dear rogue, is it really that hard to keep him on his feet?” He, too, dropped his voice, turning to the side to conceal the extent of their conversation, “Drop him again and the deal is off.”

The rogue grumbled. Anduin lifted his head, and Wrathion offered him a tiny, sideways smile.

Up ahead, the mage let out another yell. His voice grated on the dragon’s nerves; he was going to have a difficult time putting on his usual niceties the next time a goblin champion came into his tavern. 

“Yes, yes, Kleexle, I’ll be there in a moment.” Wrathion’s voice was smooth, but his jaw clenched as he forced out the words. 

“We’re over here, your Majesty,” Pakuna added a gentler call to the conversation.

At least the tauren was being reasonable. Her genuine _concern_ for Wrathion had been all the bribe he needed to buy her silence. He would try to find some way to spare her; loyalty like that wasn’t a common find. 

He transformed into his dragon body, flapping and soaring across the abandoned courtyard that had once been a mogu stronghold. The champions who had come before had stripped away nearly everything– a few fallen helmets and bones were the only indication that anyone had ever resided here. Strange to think this place had once held the key to eternal youth, or some form of it, in any case. 

He cupped his wings and came to a stop in front of the statue of Emperor Dojan that had distracted their captors. Raila turned to stare at him, and Kleexle let out a low whistle. “Wow, you really are a black dragon, aren’t you?”

_So kind of you to notice,_ Wrathion wanted to snap, but promptly decided against it. He hoped Anduin had heard that comment– they had always shared a private smile when champions came in and made ridiculous remarks about his appearance: it made those awkward exchanges easier to handle, Wrathion realized, but he would never admit that to Anduin. But Anduin’s smile felt like a distant memory, and the only thought Wrathion had to temper his annoyance was the image of Kleexle’s corpse in his hand. He exhaled; curls of smoke escaped through his nostrils. 

“Good thing he’s just a baby. Doubt he can do much more damage than we’ve already seen him do, looking like that.”

Oh yes, Wrathion was going to take pleasure in killing this mage. That much was certain. 

Pakuna coughed, clearly trying to mask Raila’s amused snort. “I was just telling them that you can read mogu, your Majesty. We found something here,” she unfolded a piece of parchment, sand-bitten and worn, and held it open in front of his face, “and we think it might have something to do with the relics here. Can you take a look for us, please?”

The paper turned out to be a scrawled list of boxes and where they should be stored, but Wrathion saw his opening and seized it enthusiastically. Transforming back into his human body, he took the paper into his hands and pretended to study it with intense curiosity. He angled his shoulders away from the group, humming and nodding, pretending to hesitate in sharing the information with them. “I see…” He murmured. Anduin and the rogue finally arrived behind them.

“What do you see, dragon?” Raila prompted. The boar at her feet let out a grunt. 

“Everything, champions!” He didn’t even have to feign excitement. This was working out far too well. “Absolutely everything.”

They waited, and he padded lightly over to the ramp, gesturing wildly as he went. “This place was once a saurok prison,” or, that’s what Left had thought. Well, whatever. “Filled with the bodies of a race the mogu tried so desperately to exterminate. Emperor Dojan II, the son of Dojan Firecrown, set out to collect items that would bolster his own power and eradicate his foes in a single blow, not unlike your own Warchief, Garrosh Hellscream.” 

He could feel Pakuna fidgeting nervously behind him, but he knew he had Raila’s attention, at the very least. He continued, “Many of the artifacts he forged had the power to trap and control the likes of the saurok and anyone else that became ensnared in their grasp: manacles that could force the wearer to talk, walk, and kill at their Emperor’s command.” He had strayed into the realm of imagination at this point, but the party seemed to be buying it. “The ultimate warden for an unruly race.”

“We could certainly use one of those right now, couldn’t we?” Kleexle sneered. 

_Yes, rise to the bait._

“Give Deryn’s arm a rest, and all. So, where can we find these manacles, dragon prince? Time to see where your true loyalties lie.”

Wrathion turned to meet them, putting on a conflicted face. His eyes fell on Anduin, but he quickly looked away, shaking his head for effect. _I hope he realizes this is all an act,_ he frowned to himself, expecting the group around them to misinterpret this sign of regret. “I have to admit that I am hesitant to tell you–” 

“What a surprise,” Raila snarled.

“– but I suppose my hand is forced. It will be for the good of Azeroth to have these items firmly in the Warchief’s hands.”

“Are you sure about this, Prince Wrathion…?” Pakuna watched him, doing little to hide her confusion.

He waved his hand. “Yes, my champion, I have never been so certain. As your hunter has said, Anduin’s fate is already sealed. This is for the good of Azeroth, and I must make the choice that suits us all rather than letting my ‘feelings’ get the best of me.” The lie came easier this time, because it was one Wrathion had told himself far more often than he was willing to admit. Under different circumstances, with different aims, and accompanied by different allies, he might have even been telling the truth. 

But Raila still looked skeptical. He forced his eyes to soften as he met her scowl. He even thought to flash her a smile, but the muscles in his face constricted at the very thought of doing so. “So where are these manacles, dragon?” She rumbled. 

He quickly turned away. “At the end of these ramps we will find a large pool. According to this message, the manacles should be hidden somewhere in the statues that surround it.”

_There would have to be traps around the water, of course._ He was going to go with that assumption, and hope for the best.

“Well, what are we waiting for? A few minutes of searching is better than hours wasted dragging this useless human through the swamps. Isn’t that right, Raila?”

The hunter grunted at Kleexle, but it seemed to be enough to prompt her to action. Without another glance in Wrathion’s direction, she pressed forward, ascending the stairs with her boar clopping its hooves against the stone in front of her. Kleexle followed, and Wrathion joined him, assuming the others would follow but hoping they lagged behind enough to avoid the attack. Right and Left should be arriving any minute. They might even be able to ambush the front of the party before they made it to their goal.

But when they rounded the bend and made it up the last flight of stairs, and Right and Left had yet to make an appearance, he started to formulate a back-up plan. If he could just get one of them to stay–

– Oh. His eyes fell on a red mandala lighting the ground between the upper courtyard and a bridge that seemed to lead to the pool. Yes, this was exactly what he needed. “Yes!” He could barely contain his glee. “The note spoke of a glowing ring of mogu runes that must stay activated over here,” he gestured to the ground, “while we retrieve the items over there,” he nodded to the bridge. “Or else we will wake the statues and suffer a cruel fate.”

“Makes sense,” Raila answered. “You, rogue, stay here with the boy.” 

Oh, that wouldn’t do at all. The last thing he wanted was to let Anduin out of his sight. He had to think quickly. He bent down and ran a finger along the edge of the circle; he was met with a zap of energy. His heart lightened even while his arm flinched. “I am afraid it must be Pakuna, as she has the ability to heal herself. As you can see, the circle emits a small attack on anyone who touches it, and depending on how long it takes us over there…”

“Good, fine, whatever,” Kleexle waved his hand dismissively. “You stay here, Pakuna. Don’t move for anything until you see us back on the bridge. Got it?”

“Yes, I’ve got it,” she sighed, and with that, they passed around her and headed towards the bridge, each of them receiving a small singe of pain as they passed. 

Wrathion knew the burn would affect Anduin, with his cloth armor still damaged with water, worse than any of them, but the prince made no cry or yell when he was dragged over top of it. He had to admire that about the human: he was able to find strength inside himself even when at his most vulnerable, and he had a quiet resistance about him that spoke to a courage few people ever bothered to notice. But Wrathion had noticed, more times than he could count, and he had to cling to that knowledge and hope that Anduin would manage to protect himself when the ambush finally began. He would have to find a way to make this up to him, when it was all over.

The pool was pretty much what he had expected. Four stone quilen sat on platforms at every corner of the pool, with golden statues of mogu generals flanking each side. The biggest statue was of the emperor himself, looming over what he had clearly thought to be his greatest accomplishment, now rendered useless by the intervention of Horde and Alliance champions who had invaded these lands. How quickly his triumph had crumbled. On a different day, Wrathion might have wondered at it, but for now he had more pressing matters to attend to. 

Kleexle started exploring even before the rest of the group had made it across the bridge. He poked expectantly at protruding stones along the rim of the pool, touched the mogu statues with the end of his staff, and even gave one of the quilen a small kick before withdrawing to watch for a reaction. 

And, much to Wrathion’s surprise (but not to his dissatisfaction), a response quickly came. The statue rumbled to life, giving a loud ‘crack’ before it pounced into the center of the pool. Wrathion jumped to the side, but luckily it had its sights firmly fixed on the goblin who had kicked it from its slumber. A series of crashes soon followed: Crack, crack, crack, the other three quilen sprung to life. The mage raised his hand and summoned a blizzard, but it was not soon enough to avoid a swipe from the creature’s massive paw. He tumbled backwards. The cast was broken, and he landed with a splash mere inches from Wrathion’s feet.

“Don’t just stand there, you pompous ass!” The goblin screeched. “Do something!”

And ‘do something’ Wrathion did, though, he assumed, it wasn’t the kind of ‘something’ Kleexle had expected. He extended his energy down into the dirt beneath the water, forging it into cuffs that wrapped around the mage’s ankles. “Never trust a black dragon,” he murmured, and, with a satisfied kick of his foot, splashed the goblin square in the face. He ran backwards. The quilen barreled down upon his prisoner, tearing into him with another swipe of their stone claws. 

“Traitor!” Raila, who had been aiming an arrow in the quilen’s direction, turned her crossbow on him. She cocked another shot, grazing his shoulder but missing his head when he ducked out of the way. He called down a fireball from the sky, and it struck her boar on the back. He squealed, and she readied another attack. 

The air in front of him buzzed to life with arcs of arcane energy. Kleexle was beating back the sentries; one crumbled when he struck it with a barrage of purple flares. But Wrathion was too busy dodging shots from Raila to strengthen his bindings. He shook the ground beneath her feet, using her momentary instability to dash forward and blast her square in the face with dragonfire. Her helm deflected the flame, but she snarled when the metal burned against her cheeks.

“You’ll pay for this, little whelp.” He could see her teeth grinding between the face guards that extended from her ear to her mouth. Her boar, aggravated by the burns on his back, seemed to grow in size, lunging forward and tearing at Wrathion’s pants with its tusks.

His calf stung. He could feel a trickle of blood rolling down his ankle and soaking through the silk lining of his shoe. He considered reverting to his dragon form but, as he reached down into his mind to strip away his human guise, he found a shadow he had never touched, a dark power rippling and churning, just waiting for his use. It wasn’t an Old God, he quickly assured himself, but it was certainly…something. He seized it, and the world beneath him trembled with strength. 

Rippling oozes in hues of red and orange surrounded him, pouring out across the pool. A stream of them slogged towards Raila while another crept up behind Kleexle and halted his casts with a blast to the back of his head. Wrathion had bought himself enough time to shoot the boar with another flame from the sky, killing it before Raila had the chance to deflect the attack with one of her hunter tricks. He heaved a sigh of relief. Turning around, he scanned the space for signs of Anduin and the forsaken. 

The forsaken was nowhere to be found, but Anduin had been dropped in a heap on the ground, and now rolled around jerking and pulling at the bonds that fixed his arms behind his back. _Are they not loose enough?_ Wrathion started to wonder, but an even greater mistake took precedence over his previous mishap. Another stream of oozes, acting beyond the limits of Wrathion’s control, started to file past him, slipping over the earth and leaving a trail of smoke in their wake. At first he thought they were seeking out the rogue, but then he realized they were heading straight for Anduin. He lunged forward; without a weapon, he had no choice but to knock the ooze away from the prince with his bare hands. His own minion burned a hole in the palm of his glove, but his skin felt neither sting nor scald.

Anduin looked up at him, breathless. “I-I’m trying…” He apologized between gasps. Wrathion shook his head, reaching an arm around his back in an attempt to shatter the chain.

But as soon as his fingers met metal, he felt an arrow snap through his left pauldron. He whipped his head around, snarling at the orc who blasted shot after shot into the slimes around her. Each one burst like a bubble of fire. The one beside Wrathion bubbled and exploded, and he was just quick enough to block the splatter with his own shoulder before it could reach Anduin. His skin was unaffected by the fire. These tears were a part of him, somehow, and his flesh absorbed their heat and dragged it back into his core.

“Almost…got it…” Anduin whispered behind him. He nodded, reaching out and breaking the ground beneath her until water from the pool churned and spilled between her legs. She lurched forward; everything shook. Wrathion started to rise to his feet, knowing that one last blast of his fire would put this orc down for good.

But at the very moment he extended his hand to the sky, the air around them buzzed and hummed with an energy he hadn’t summoned. He stared past the hunter to the statue of the emperor at the opposite end of the pond. The goblin had broken free of his bonds and had somehow found a switch in the stone at the base of his platform. A single brick blazed red beneath his palm, and, with its activation, similar stones on the statues surrounding them sparked to life and joined in the electric moan that rippled throughout the space. 

“Looks like we’ll be needing a second set of manacles!” Kleexle yelled. His face twisted into a violent grin. 

But no, there were no manacles. This was something else. A security device, some kind of trap. But what–

The air pulsed, and in a quick, horrifying flash Wrathion realized they were set to explode. “Anduin,” he gasped, turning around and wrapping the prince’s chest in his arms. Everything seemed to freeze. Wrathion didn’t have time to hope he could deflect the blast. The air rippled, and the world around him burst into flames.

_________________________


	4. Chapter 4

_________________________

The ooze exploded in a flash beside him, splattering Wrathion’s armor with some kind of goo that burned a hole straight through his silk undershirt. Anduin bit back a cry; he gave his arm another furious tug, desperate to be free, desperate to heal his friend from whatever _that_ thing he had summoned was doing to him. He had never felt so useless. No matter how much he twisted and pulled, he couldn’t manage to cup his fingers enough to slide them through the loop around his wrist.

His bracelet clattered, jade chipping against steel every time it smacked down against the links. He could feel shards of the stone flaking down onto his hand. He could feel Wrathion’s back rising and falling against his chest as he tried to fight the hunter pelting them with arrows.

“Almost…got it…” He whispered into Wrathion’s ear, but he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. Beyond the dragon’s shoulders he saw the ground crack and quake. The orc stumbled, and for a moment, her attacks ceased. Wrathion seemed to see an opportunity. He started to rise to his feet, but a voice stilled his movements from the other side of the pond. 

“Looks like we’ll be needing a second set of manacles!” It was the goblin. Why had Wrathion forgotten about the goblin? If only Anduin could get free, he wouldn’t have to do this alone. If only he could just pull a bit hard–

He jerked forward. He felt his skin peeling away from the bone, bathing his fingers in a flood of fresh blood. It took a moment for the pain to come, but when it did, it stung like venom, gnawing away at his now-drenched thumb and bringing a cry to his lips. But he bit it back. He had been in worse pain than this. This…this was something he could handle, if it meant saving Wrathion. 

He tugged again with the same force as before, but still it wasn’t quite enough. 

He looked up at Wrathion’s back, and he could tell, in an instant, that something was wrong. His entire body had tensed. He looked from statue to statue, and then up at the sky, his shoulders rising in obvious bewilderment. 

Anduin needed to get free… now. He couldn’t just sit on the ground while Wrathion faced whatever danger he sensed alone. The human knew what he had to do.

Grabbing his injured thumb with his uninjured hand, Anduin gave a tug. Pain shot up his arm, but it wasn’t enough. He tugged again, and again, too shocked to scream or cry, only able to focus on the man swooping down on top of him and the mysterious hum buzzing in his ears. Just one more time. One more–

His thumb snapped from its socket with a pop. He felt bile rising in his chest, but he managed to force it down. He slid one hand out, and then another, reaching out to the Light of the sun overhead, the hope of Chi-ji in his temple beyond the trees, the love that filled Anduin as he felt the dragon covering his body with his own. It shone from the tips of his fingers. It collected above them in an arc, draping around them in physical form as a golden dome with the strength to resist the explosions that erupted at every side. 

He pressed his hand against Wrathion’s head. Fire crashed like waves against a rock, but inside his bubble, he felt no hint of its heat. Bits of gold and stone ricocheted off its surface; it rippled to accommodate their assaults but never yielded in its defense of those huddled inside. Next came the cloud of dust and smoke, and that, too, grazed over them like fog rolling over the tip of a mountain. They were unharmed. Everything was okay.

Anduin let out a loud exhale. The breath he had held in a moment of terror ruffled a few ringlets of Wrathion’s hair that had slipped out of his turban and prompted his eyes to open. He stared down at Anduin. Blinking, he touched the back of his neck, and withdrew his hand a moment later covered in blood. _My blood,_ Anduin realized with a start. His hand, forgotten during the blast, now seemed to cry out in agony. 

“Is that from you…?” Wrathion asked, breathlessly. 

Anduin managed a nod. “C-couldn’t…couldn’t have you taking an explosion for me…” His tone was as light as he could manage, but in truth the very thought filled him with a thick ball of emotions that squeezed around his heart.

Wrathion practically sputtered. “I-I didn’t…!” But, looking down into Anduin’s eyes, he seemed to change his mind. His tone shifted. He even mustered a smile, “What? You couldn’t _stand_ the thought of me as the hero, my prince?”

“H-heh, I didn’t think anyone would believe me if I told them.”

They stared at each other for a moment, exchanging pointed looks that brought Wrathion closer to his chest. He leaned against him, pressing quick, almost frantic kisses from his cheek to his ear. His lips were hot and wet against Anduin’s skin. The human raised his uninjured hand to cup his face, tracing down the line of his jaw, thumbing over the slight point of his chin, flicking lightly at the small tuft of hair: it was as if he was feeling him for the first time, discovering all the beauty and wonder a familiar face had held all along. He gave himself over to the dragon’s warmth, his scent, and for a fleeting moment, all the pain in his body and mind seemed to fall away.

The dome above them opened and trickled down into the earth. Anduin turned his head, and their lips pressed together. They kissed until they were breathless, and then kissed some more, forgetting the rubble surrounding them and the cloud of smoke looming in the air. 

It wasn’t until they heard footsteps rushing across the bridge that they remembered where they were and the potential attack that could be in store for them. Wrathion lifted his head, and Anduin made a move to sit up, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better look. A human dashed around the corner, a crossbow in her hands and a staff strapped to her back, and made for the place where they sat in the dirt. “Your Highness!” Right exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

Wrathion sat back on his heels, dusting off the front of his armor with a flick of his nails. “Fine, of course.” He was clearly trying to sound nonchalant. “Our captors have been _dealt with_.”

Now keenly aware of the throbbing in his thumb, Anduin cupped his hand into his lap, hoping the others would forget about it. He could fix it himself, but it was going to be painful, and he’d rather if they didn’t watch him struggle to get it back into place. He waited for Wrathion to rise, and then gave it a yank, biting his lip to hold back a cry. His vision blurred. He felt a pop, and immediately summoned a healing spell to assuage the wounds beneath his grasp. 

The light pouring over his skin was like a soothing bath, and, as it sank into his skin and wrapped around the muscles beneath it, he could feel his breath starting to even. He looked down at the earth beside him; the gold fragments had melted and stuck to the floor. They glittered in the sunlight, too beautiful for the destruction that had caused them to appear. Anduin forced his heart to stop racing. 

Left soon joined Right from behind the stone column. She carried a mass over her shoulder which, when she threw it down on the ground, turned out to be Deryn’s lifeless corpse. His head had been all but cut from his neck, and it looked like a knife had been run through the space between his eyes. Anduin flinched in spite of himself, but Wrathion clapped his hands.

“Good, good,” he nudged at the forsaken with his toe, checking for signs of life. Deryn remained, twisted and lifeless, in a pile at Left’s feet. “Excellent.”

“He seemed to think he was coming to join us.”

Wrathion snickered, doing little to hide his self-satisfaction. “Yes, well, that’s what I told him.” Anduin had to remind himself how gruffly Deryn had treated him to justify the lie to himself. _But what about the tauren?_ He couldn’t help but wonder. She had been kind to him when no one else had acknowledged his discomfort. She had even allowed Wrathion to come to him by the fire without comment or protest. Surely she–

It was as if Wrathion had read his thoughts. “And the tauren?” He prompted as he slipped the rogue’s coin pouch onto his belt. 

Left and Right nodded in unison. “Incapacitated, as you requested, but unharmed,” Right explained. “She should wake in a few minutes.”

“Let’s be gone by then, then. Answering questions would only prove troublesome, don’t you think?” The dragon looked back at Anduin, offering him his hand. He took it, allowing himself to be pulled, somewhat haltingly, to his feet. As soon as he was up, Right was at his side, pulling the staff from her back and shoving it into his hand. He took it, grateful for a prop on which to lean. “I hope this will do for a cane until we make it downstairs. It wasn’t easy to find a crutch out in the wild like this.”

“It’s fine,” Anduin quickly assured him, and then turned to smile at the agents. Wrathion certainly did think of everything. 

“There’s a kodo tied up outside for him to ride,” Left gestured towards the exit. Anduin tried not to imagine how they had come by such a mount out here; hopefully they hadn’t hurt anyone in the process. Thunder Cleft was a camp Dezco had established, and Anduin knew its inhabitants were good people. 

“We can drop him off at the Night Elf encampment to the south and–”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Wrathion beat him to it. “But we are expected at Lion’s Landing. We couldn’t possibly turn down the king’s hospitality, could we?”

“But sir–” It was Right who protested this time. Wrathion waved her into silence.

“I have business to discuss with King Wrynn. Keep news of our journey quiet, and it won’t cause any misunderstandings among my Horde supporters. Now,” he nodded pointedly towards the bridge, “Let’s get moving before anyone else finds us here. I’m not sure Anduin is up for another fight.”

“Hey, I saved you.”

Wrathion chuckled. “But that’s what priests _do_ , is it not? Saving souls, and all of that.” Despite his teasing, Anduin noticed him looking down at his hand. He hadn’t forgotten about the injury. Anduin flexed his fingers. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw there, Wrathion started towards the bridge. 

But as he turned to go, something didn’t feel quite right. Anduin shot a quick glance over his shoulder. Rubble from the blast littered the pool. He caught sight of a foot poking out from under a smoldering heap of rocks and gold, shod with the same mail boots Anduin had found himself watching for hours as he plodded through the swamps. He bit his bottom lip. “Shouldn’t we, uh, do something about the bodies?”

“My dear prince,” Wrathion chuckled. It wasn’t a happy sound. “They _tortured_ you. Their bodies deserve no respect from us.”

He shook his head, but he knew arguing with Wrathion about this would get him nowhere. Letting his eyes slide closed for a moment, he formed a quick, emotionless prayer and left it at that. Hopefully when Pakuna awoke she would do something a bit more fitting in honor of her fallen comrades. He drew in a breath, and followed after Wrathion.

“But you did save the tauren,” he couldn’t help but point out, relieved and pleased by this tiny show of mercy from someone who claimed he had none.

Wrathion shrugged. “Loyalty pays.” But in the glances they exchanged, Anduin heard more than the words that left the dragon’s lips. Despite his insistence to the contrary, he had dealt kindly with Pakuna. He had shielded Anduin with his own body. Anduin reached over with his free hand, the blood coating it now dry, and gave Wrathion’s wrist a squeeze. 

In his own small ways, he had played the part of a hero, after all.

_________________________

Varian charged up the road winding along the side of the quarry, leaving behind the soldiers who accompanied him in his dash towards the top of the hill. A gryphon rider had spotted a small party riding down from the province of Zhu, and he rushed to confirm the report listing a slight, blonde human among their company. He hoped that the dwarf had not been mistaken. It was only three hours until sunset, and with the onset of night, the dangers Anduin faced in the jungle would increase tenfold.

They had found the caravan about ten miles southeast of the tauren settlement Thunder Ridge, but there had been no sign of Anduin or Wrathion among the carnage. Varian clung to the hope that Kalecgos’s words would prove to be true: there had been Horde corpses among the dead, and one had been burned and buried up to the waist in the earth itself. It was possible, he tried to assure himself, that they had beaten back the attack. It was possible that Anduin had escaped into the forest with his life. 

He clung to this hope, because he couldn’t bear to consider the alternative.

His horse’s shod feet pounded against the earth as he spurred it over the crest of a hill. He clutched the reins in his hands; he drew in a frantic breath, staring down the path for some sign of the party the dwarf had described. In the misty glade, he could barely make out the silhouette of a kodo lumbering from side to side, creeping at a snail’s pace down the road in front of him. Two figures flanked its sides– females, Varian guessed, though it was difficult to tell with fog rising from the earth beneath them– and another sat perched behind its hump, swaying with every plod of the animal’s massive feet. Varian recognized that outline, obscured though it was by the mists, and, without heed to decorum, let out a yell: “Anduin!”

The party stopped. One of the women escorting the kodo, the larger of the two, pointed down the road in his direction. Varian gave his horse a kick; no matter how quickly it dashed, it didn’t seem fast enough. 

“Your Majesty,” he heard someone call behind him, but he ignored him. Bringing his horse to a full gallop, he closed the space between himself and the travelers. When he got closer, he could start to make out the boy’s blonde hair and the deep blue of his tabard; his pants were spattered with mud, and blood stains soaked one of his sleeves up to the forearm. He barely brought his horse to a stop before dismounting. 

“Anduin!” He ran the rest of the way, his boots thundering across the moist dirt. The boy gave a small wave, pulling a staff off of his back and using it to ease himself off of the kodo’s back. He opened his mouth to protest, but something in his son’s eyes, a kind of tired trepidation, warned him away from intervening. He looked down at his hand, scanning it for any sign of injury, barely aware of the Blacktalon guards at his sides or the sound of gryphons swooping down onto the field to their left. He didn’t seem injured, but Varian couldn’t be sure…

“Father, it’s fine,” Anduin extended his hand in front of him, flexing and un-flexing his hands. “I healed it already. It’s okay.”

With the curling of his fingers, Varian felt a weight being lifted from his chest. He glanced from the orc to the human bodyguard, before finally fixing his gaze on the ball of black scales and folded wings perched at the top of his son’s arm. He didn’t know what to say. Setting his lips in a thin line, he questioned them: “What happened to Anduin? Why were you delayed?”

He hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so gruff– after all, they had just rescued his son. The Black Prince and his guards, however, seemed unconcerned. Only Anduin opened his mouth to protest, but Wrathion quickly silenced him with a stretch of his wings. “We were taken by a party of Horde adventurers after your soldiers failed to defend us. But don’t worry, King Wrynn. We avenged ourselves with their deaths.” 

The dragon lifted his right claw and flicked his tongue across it, preening like some kind of proud bird. Trying his best to keep his expression neutral, he turned his attention back to his son, drawn with concern to the circles under his eyes and the pasty, dull color of his skin. “I’m glad to see you safe. I’m sorry…” Hearing his soldiers approaching behind him, he quickly shifted to a more formal register. “I apologize for this oversight in our evacuation strategy, and for failing to locate you sooner.”

He could have sworn he heard the dragon snort, but the sound disappeared under the rattle and clattered of guards stepping in line at his back. The orc stiffened; her hand reached around to locate he crossbow, but something halted her movement before she managed to remove it from its strap. _He communicates with them, somehow,_ Varian wondered at this, but, knowing it had likely saved his son’s life, let it occur without interrogation. 

“It’s fine, father, really,” Anduin managed a faint smile. It looked like his cheeks would crack under the strain of this gesture. “We were only with them a few hours, and like Wrathion said, they–”

The gryphon riders had joined the cluster behind them, and they seemed to be having an even more difficult time keeping quiet as they approached. “Wot are we doin’ negotiatin’ with the likes of these Horde?” He heard Daggin Windbeard grumble not-so-subtly under her breath. He was met with a murmur of approval. 

“Bless me, Daggin.” Sully McLeary chimed in. “Either that’s a black dragon, or I’ll be needin’ me eyes checked. They’re ransomin’–”

Varian coughed. The dwarves immediately fell silent, though out of the corner of his eye he caught Sully reaching for his gun.

But, if the dragon’s craned neck and his son’s squirming were any indication, he hadn’t put an end to the discussion in time to keep the group from overhearing. He began again, this time louder and more resolute than before, “Ready the gryphons. We can discuss the attack in more detail once everyone has been fed and rested. In recognition of your heroism today, Black Prince, the Alliance extends its hospitality to you.”

He was keenly aware of a collective stiffening behind him, but what did they expect him to do? The dragon had aided his son, and his agents had located them when his own forces had failed to do so. Besides, one tiny dragon and two guards would pose little threat to them within an Alliance stronghold. The minimal risk couldn’t justify sending them away with nothing.

But his soldiers weren’t the only ones uncomfortable with this invitation: the Blacktalon agents shot glances at each other over Anduin’s head, edgy but acquiescent. He didn’t even need to listen to the dragon’s words to know that he had accepted the invitation.

At least Anduin’s smile had become a bit less strained. 

He turned to Daggin. “We will land as near as possible to the entrance at the docks, and enter the keep from there.” He then looked to Admiral Taylor, who had arrived moments before and was now flanking his left side, “Lady Proudmoore occupies the spare bedroom in the royal quarters tonight,” he felt his son standing a bit taller beside him, “but we can prepare the room adjacent to Anduin’s to house our guests. I’m sure the prince won’t object to this.” Better to know where they were than to have them sneaking around, after all.

“Your Majesty, are you sure something a bit more ‘off site’ wouldn’t be–” But something in Varian’s eyes cut him off. He nodded slightly, and then turned to his troops. “Ready your escort.”

When Anduin turned to lead the agents over to their gryphons, Varian followed Taylor and the soldiers preparing to free the kodo from its restraints. “This is a confidential mission,” he addressed them with a low voice. “The Black Prince’s presence among us will only be discussed on a need-to-know basis. Understood?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” 

And with that assurance, he mounted a brown gryphon that had been prepared for him. Following the dwarves, he climbed just high enough into the air to swoop down from the crest of the quarry and over the field beyond. At his side, he saw Anduin clutching the reins of his own mount, the dragon curling his tail around his neck to steady himself against the shifting winds. He must have whispered something in Anduin’s ear, because he smiled, and nuzzled his back with his cheek. It was almost…endearing. Varian swiftly dismissed the thought. 

They soared over the courtyard and around to the front of the keep, landing near a row of canons at the edge of the docks. The gryphon riders waited as Varian and the two soldiers accompanying them dismounted, followed by the Blacktalon guards, and finally by Anduin, who struggled to steady his makeshift cane against the knotted planks beneath them. Varian offered his arm, but Anduin ignored it, finally climbing down on his own. Varian frowned.

“Was your leg re-injured?” He whispered as soon as they had passed into the tunnel leading up into the keep.

Anduin shook his head. “It’s just sore. I had to walk on it for a bit, but I’m sure it will be fine after a few days.”

He wasn’t wholly convinced, but he didn’t want to argue with Anduin. Something about him seemed different– a bit more irritable than usual, and with a newfound tendency to drop his gaze whenever Varian looked into his eyes. _He’s still angry at me, for what I said,_ He decided, and honestly, he couldn’t blame him. He had snapped; he felt shame creeping in to his chest at the memory of those words leaving his mouth. His son had deserved more trust than that. Regardless of how Varian felt about his lover, he had spoken unfairly. 

When they reached the top of the winding staircase leading in to the royal chambers, Varian paused, thankful for a few moments of relative privacy. He wrapped his arms around Anduin, and pulled him into a hug. At first he tensed, but, as Varian patted the back of his head, he gradually leaned in to his touch. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmured, a hint of emotion creeping into his voice. Beneath his forearm, he felt the dragon’s tail recoil; he pressed up against Anduin’s neck to avoid touching the king’s armor. Without overthinking the gesture, Varian reached over and gave Wrathion a slight pat on the back. “And if either of you, uh, need anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you, father.” And with that, Anduin turned and led the Blacktalon agents into his room, leaving Varian to watch after them from his place in the hall.

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The cover that lay across Wrathion’s lap gave a slight tug when the man beside him started to stir. He cast a glance over his shoulder, but the human’s head remained buried in his pillow, his blond hair tousled after hours of fitful sleep. Content that it couldn’t be the light from the lamp on the nightstand that had roused him, Wrathion returned to his book. He licked his thumb and turned the page. The paper beneath his fingers was weathered and worn with years of extensive use, and he couldn’t help but imagine Anduin, several years younger and full of energy, excitedly consuming tale after tale about the knights and their magical court in a land far away.

After the events of the past few days, it would have been nice to see Anduin excited about anything again. When they had left the mogu ruins he had seen a spark rekindled in the boy, brought on, no doubt, by the stress of their battle and the sudden relief that had washed over them in the end, but it had quickly given way to despondency. Wrathion had pretended to fall asleep, and Anduin’s shoulders had dropped and quivered beneath him; he had felt the ripple of hidden sobs beneath his tail, the hitch in his breath as he nudged his head against his throat. He knew Anduin was in pain, but what could he possibly say to him? _Don’t worry, my father destroyed half of Azeroth. Next to that, the Lich King doesn’t seem so bad, right?_ It sounded utterly ridiculous. They didn’t have the kind of relationship that made such conversations possible. 

_But Anduin tried to get you to talk about your ‘feelings,’_ he quickly pushed the thought from his mind. Wrathion wasn’t some human who could just gush and moan about emotions. The very image of it made him squirm, and if he couldn’t even consider doing it himself, how was he supposed to help Anduin? Surely he didn’t expect it from him, even though they were…whatever they were. Nobody would be silly enough to request empathy from him, son of Neltharion, the uncorrupted Earth-Warder charged with the safety of Azeroth. Surely he would realize that such niceties were trivial in the grand scheme of his vision.

And yet…when he had looked across that campfire and seen the color fall from Anduin’s cheeks, his heart had all but burst in his chest. If that wasn’t empathy, what was it? He tensed at the thought; he forced his gaze down onto the book in his lap, but the letters on the page looked disjointed and useless, the sentences failing to fall together in any intelligable fashion. He slid his hand across the pillow and onto Anduin’s head. It was as if not looking made it somehow less embarrassing.

Anduin stirred again, and Wrathion traced his thumb across the crest of his cheek. 

In a few hours they would be meeting with the king for a ‘de-briefing’ of their little adventure in the jungle. If the meeting was to his liking, Wrathion decided, he would fill them in on his decision regarding the upcoming war and his place in it. After seeing the level of conflict and division among their captors, it only seemed logical to support the Alliance as the faction who would take the reins and lead Azeroth into a stronger future: a decision that had nothing, _absolutely nothing,_ he assured himself, to do with the soft skin beneath the pad of his thumb and the gentle brush of blonde hair across the back of his hand. An Alliance victory was the best alternative, past failures non-withstanding. He was merely doing what was best for his planet and the greatest number of its inhabitants.

And the fact that Anduin was one of the many inhabitants who would benefit from this decision certainly didn’t hurt.

He trailed the tip of his claw along the edge of Anduin’s jaw. Was it his imagination, or were the bones starting to square off into a more distinct shape? He found a few stray hairs poking out from the tip of Anduin’s chin and flicked at them playfully. When the human’s spirits improved, he would have to tease him about this pathetic excuse for a goatee. Still, he couldn’t ignore the signs: Anduin was getting older. One day, he would be king. Despite the amount of grief he had given him for his ideals that amounted to nothing but words, he trusted him, in a way, for reasons that _surely weren’t his own emotions getting the better of him._ He’d never admit any of this out loud, of course, but Anduin was the only one he could imagine with the patience to organize all of the races in a final, decisive battle against the Legion. He was good at things like that– talking, negotiating, seeing potential and value in those who had otherwise been discounted. 

Healing the wounds of a world ripped apart by darkness and ruin.

Yes, Anduin wouldn’t make such a terrible king. Now all that remained was the disposal of Garrosh and the subordination of Vol’jin’s armies. If he could only convince Varian to remember his hatred for the Horde and strike decisively and thoroughly, victory would soon follow, and the world would be ready. If he could only–

A pair of soft lips against his wrist distracted him from his thoughts. They trailed kisses from the base of his thumb to his forearm, gentle and needy. Wrathion cracked a smile. 

“Are you awake?” Anduin mumbled against his skin: a pointless question, but endearing nonetheless. He tilted his chin up to meet his gaze rather than responding. Anduin managed a tiny smile, “How long have I been asleep?”

“About ten hours, off and on.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking past the dragon to the lamp on the nightstand and the barest hints of dawn creeping through the window behind them. “Oh, sorry…” He kissed the palm of his hand: an apologetic gesture.

“Not to worry, my dear prince. I had no trouble finding ways to entertain myself.” He used his free hand to lift up the book, folding it closed around his thumb. Anduin chuckled when he saw the back cover; a hint of pink crept across his cheeks. “You have some interesting reading material in your collection here.”

“Oh, ah,” Anduin ceased his kissing for a moment to turn and prop his arm up on the pillow beneath his head. Wrathion took the hint, placing the book on the table and then sliding down under the covers so he and Anduin were on the same level. They watched each other; Anduin scooted closer. “I used to read that one all the time …” 

“I could tell,” Wrathion teased, his voice low and husky. He was satisfied to see Anduin squirm, pleased, and a bit relieved, that he could still make the human blush. “So tell me, Prince Anduin, which knight did you prefer? The knight with the lion, I imagine.”

“Um, he was okay, I guess…” Anduin fidgeted. Wrathion rested his hand against the front of his sleeping shirt, scratching his nail idly over the lion above his heart. He felt his chest rise and fall beneath his touch.

He smirked, encouraged by the prince’s reaction. “Rescuing poor, besieged animals from the heartless grasp of a ‘wicked black dragon.’” As he flicked at the top button, his tone turned serious. “A lion wouldn’t follow like that, though. Not unless it was tamed. It’s absolutely absurd…” 

Anduin chuckled: a full, genuine laugh. His breath felt light and cool against Wrathion’s cheek, and he couldn’t help but slide closer. “You mean a lion wouldn’t climb on a horse and ride around? What would I do without your _infinite knowledge_ , Prince Wrathion?” As satisfied as the dragon was to hear sarcasm return to Anduin’s voice, he was even more satisfied when he managed to silence it by brushing his finger in a small circle over his nipple through his shirt; the prince flushed, his laughter dropping to a sigh. 

After a tiny pause, the human finally responded. “To be honest, I always felt more like the boy who’s hidden away in a cabin so he won’t become like his father.” He let out a laugh, leaning into Wrathion’s touch as his hand traced down the front of his night shirt. “When he sees a knight for the first time, he’s so confused…”

The dragon murmured in approval, his nail making it down to the hem of the shirt, barely grazing the front of his pants poking out beneath it. Anduin’s breath hitched. Wrathion met his gaze with a slight nod. “It never ceases to amuse me how humans shelter their children. Lucky for me, they didn’t keep you from discovering _everything_.”

“They-ah-certainly tried,” Wrathion felt Anduin hardening beneath his touch. Encouraged, he drew a line with his finger over the tenting material; his touch was just light enough to make Anduin wriggle, but far too light to offer any real satisfaction. His cheeks shone in the lamplight. “When father was away, they-uh-really thought I would be betrothed to a noblewoman before I,” his breath quickened, “before I matured, so they didn’t think…well, Bolvar said–”

Wrathion felt the human tense beneath him. He bit down on his lip, but it wasn’t the shy, sigh-suppressing kind of bite he would have expected moments before, but a harsh, pained kind of bite masking the trembling of his lip. Wrathion withdrew his hand from the front of his pants, wrapping it, instead, around his waist. He pulled him close; Anduin leaned a tentative head against his shoulder.

Not knowing what to say, he simply held him, hoping that the simple gesture would convey the regret he couldn’t quite voice. If only he had stopped the conversation sooner, he thought as he worked his hand up Anduin’s spine. If only he had killed them all before they had the chance to capture him. His hand made it up to his neck, thumbing lightly at his hairline. He felt the other prince starting to relax. 

“Well, uh…” Anduin’s voice was small and sheepish against the front of his undershirt. He continued rubbing his neck, waiting for him to say whatever he needed to say. At the very least, he could listen. But Anduin didn’t seem interested in talking about his feelings, for once. He quickly changed the subject, looking up at him with the barest hint of a smile. “Which knight would you be, huh? Which one, you know, was your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t know, my dear prince.” As he nuzzled the top of Anduin’s head, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Anduin reached between them; his fingers curled around the top of his collar. “I’m not sure I would exactly _qualify_ for knighthood, by human standards.”

“I don’t know about that, _my dear prince._ ” While Wrathion usually found these attempts to mimic him annoying at best, tonight he was just relieved to hear Anduin chuckle. “The king hands out the appointments, you know, so it isn’t entirely impossible…”

“Ah yes,” the dragon curled his own clawed fingers around the other prince’s hand, giving it a small squeeze where it rested against his shirt. “And for his first act as king, Anduin Wrynn would like to honor the son of Neltharion for his work in taking-his-virginity-and-giving-him-the-best-orgasms-of-his-life, a noble and honest deed.”

“Don’t forget ‘letting me rescue him from the mogu ruins with my hands tied behind my back.’” 

He narrowed his eyes in jest; the fingers around Anduin’s hand suddenly tightened. “Don’t get _too_ full of yourself, my prince. Never forget who it was who pulled you from the wreckage.”

“I’m pretty sure that was me, too, actually.” Anduin raised an eyebrow. The dragon snarled playfully, pulling him up into a forceful kiss. Their lips smashed together, parting without hesitation as Wrathion dropped his hold on the human’s hand and climbed on top of him. He caught his wrist and pinned it above his head, using his tiny cry of surprise to press his tongue past his teeth and into his mouth. Anduin yielded, meeting the intrusion with a tiny flick of his own tongue against the tip. Wrathion straddled his hips.

“Oh yes, ah,” Anduin mumbled against his lips, letting out a small sigh of approval. “I’ve just figured out which knight you are…”

“Oh?”

Anduin broke the kiss, reaching his free hand up to cup the dragon’s cheek. Wrathion tilted his head into his touch, smiling, his eyes sliding closed as he felt a pinkie stroking the underside of his goatee. He moved his hand from the human’s wrist to his palm, interlacing their fingers against the pillow. 

“Yes,” he purred. Anduin always sounded _so cute_ when he tried to flirt. Wrathion felt his own cheeks growing warm. Anduin must have noticed the change in his expression, because he leaned up for another kiss. “I think,” he kissed him, “you would be the knight,” he kissed him again, this time holding out the pause to nibble lightly at his bottom lip, “who rescues the queen,” another kiss, “only to sneak into her bed and seduce her beneath the king’s very nose...”

“In that case, we better practice being quiet,” he smirked against the other man’s lips. “We wouldn’t want anyone running to your bed to check on you, dear prince.” Taking the prince’s not-so-subtle hint, he released his grasp on his hand and slipped it down between them. He slid it up under his shirt, rubbing circles over the soft flesh of his belly and then reaching down to untie the drawstring holding up his pants. He watched the prince’s face for signs of hesitation, but he only nodded, arching his hips up into his touch. 

“Good-ah-good idea,” Anduin gasped as he pushed down the top of his pants and wrapped his fingers around his hardening shaft. “Wouldn’t want father finding us again…” Though something in Anduin’s eyes told him that he wasn’t all that concerned about discretion right now. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the king already knew, or a sudden apathy towards his opinion after the revelations of the past day, that fueled Anduin’s eagerness, but Wrathion didn’t stop to wonder. He gave him what he wanted: Working his hand against the shaft, he pushed the skin back and forth over the head and silenced the moan he earned with a forceful kiss. Anduin pressed against the pillow, rocking into his touch.

With a tiny moan, the human arched his back, exposing his neck to Wrathion’s wandering lips. He trailed kisses from his mouth to his collarbone, following the muscles of his neck with his tongue and nipping him gently right beneath the jaw. Anduin’s hips bucked. Grasping him tighter, he flicked his thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the small droplet he found there. 

He could feel the prince’s veins pounding beneath his mouth. He increased the pressure of his kiss, keenly aware of the tiny moans escaping Anduin’s throat and a faint hint of salt on the skin that throbbed between his lips. A small part of him knew the king would notice in the morning, but, in that moment, he decidedly didn’t care. Let the king stare; let him know that it was Wrathion Anduin had held and embraced even after pointedly shrugging his father away. He bit down; Anduin let out a cry. The thought of marking him filled the dragon with a need he couldn’t quite contain. 

He rocked against the top of Anduin’s thigh, letting out a small sigh of relief as he rubbed his own erection against him through the silk of his pants. Clutching Anduin’s side to steady himself, he rolled his hips forward, falling into rhythm with every jerk of his hand. Although it had taken time, these gestures had become easy, almost second-nature, to him; the hours of frantic kissing and touching they had spent together in his room at the tavern had taught him how to reduce the human to a quivering pile of moans and sighs, and Wrathion took pride in it. He felt like he knew what to expect, knew how to satisfy him, and–

A finger nudging against his entrance shook him from his thoughts. It circled in a ring before pushing gently against it, going in barely an inch, then withdrawing. Wrathion shivered in spite of himself; his hand on Anduin’s erection stilled. 

“Is it, uh, good?” The human was clearly trying to sound suave, but his nervousness had won out. Wrathion could feel him studying his face as he rubbed the pad of his finger against his hole. He drew in a deep breath, willing his body to relax. He had always wondered when they would try this method, but he hadn’t expected it to start like this, with him being penetrated, and the sensation was all together an unexpected one. Not an unpleasant one, per se, but new and unfamiliar. He nodded slowly, but Anduin seemed unconvinced. 

“You can, um, you know, do it to me instead if you want. Or we can do something else. It’s up to you!” The hand down the back of his pants had suddenly grown clammy, and with every exclamation that left his mouth, the quiver in his fingertips became all the more noticeable. Oh Anduin, always so concerned about satisfying others. It was…sweet, and charming. Wrathion felt his own erection returning to full hardness. He pushed himself further on top of him, silencing him with a kiss. 

When Anduin’s lips parted slightly to meet his, Wrathion caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. The human squirmed, and he managed to draw out a muffled moan by working his palm up his shaft in a slowed, teasing jerk. “Well?” He propped himself up on his other forearm so he could look down into Anduin’s face. He mustered a confident smile, as much for himself as for the other man. “Are you going to keep going? Trust me, dear prince, I’m not going to break.”

“You’re okay with it, right?”

“Of course. It will be an ‘adventure,’ as you’re so fond of saying.”

Anduin’s eyes brightened. With a smile, he, much to Wrathion’s surprise, withdrew his hand from his pants and gave the back of his thigh a reassuring pat. “Okay, then. Just a second.” He nudged the dragon off of him, rolling away– first onto his side, and then onto his stomach– to reach for something beneath the bed. Wrathion could hear his hand fumbling against the baseboards. He trailed his claws down Anduin’s spine, curious about his sudden quest beneath the mattress, but decidedly against pressuring him for answers. Instead, he simply rubbed the small of his back. 

“I wouldn’t let just anyone do this to me, you know,” he felt the need to profess.

“I mean, same here, but that’s kind of the _point_ , right?” Anduin’s voice was muffled with his cheek pressed firmly against the mattress. Still, Wrathion could feel his soft chuckle reverberating in his chest. “I, uh, well, you know.”

“I know.” _Not a couple, my ass,_ Wrathion thought to himself, but he could only smile in Anduin’s direction at this sudden admission of loyalty. Although loyalty wasn’t exactly his strong suit, sharing in Anduin’s feelings warmed his chest with a heat distinctly different from the fire that usually resided there. He set to work removing his pants and undershirt, barely reaching the bottom button before the human returned. 

“How should I, uh…?” The human flashed him a goofy grin. Against his chest, he clutched a salve container and what appeared to be the metal hilt of a wand removed for…other purposes. _Oh titans._ Wrathion had to bite his bottom lip to hold back a growl. He felt his erection, now released from his discarded pants, throbbing with need. With little things like this, Anduin never ceased to amaze him.

“On the bed,” he managed to whisper, all but grabbing his hips and bringing him back down onto the mattress. Knowing that Anduin would need help with his pants, he leaned down, kissing his hip bone as he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband at each side and gave a small tug. He moved his lips first to his thigh, then to his knee, and over his injured leg to his foot, marking each bit of skin he revealed. Anduin quivered beneath him. 

With a shy wave of his fingers, Anduin beckoned to him. The dragon straddled his waist; his hands ruffled the hair behind his ears and cupped his cheeks as he sank into another kiss. This time it was slower, more precise. He took care to tease Anduin’s tongue, parting his own lips just enough to trap the tip between them. His earring rattled against his neck as he rocked forward: just close enough that Anduin could reach behind him. The other prince took the hint and slid a single finger, now wet with salve, down to rub against his opening. It felt gooey and cool, but not displeasing, as it sank into him with much more ease than before. He murmured appreciatively against Anduin’s mouth; his own hands slid gently towards the back of his neck. 

He rolled his hips against his abdomen; the priest’s skin felt soft and cool against his erection, and the thin dusting of hair leading downwards tickled him with every rock and thrust. He closed his eyes. Sighing, he lost himself in the movement, almost forgetting about the finger moving in and out of him until Anduin replaced it with something thick and cold. 

He let out an audible exhale. His hands dropped from Anduin’s neck to his shoulders, clutching them for leverage. The human paused. A frown crossed his lips. “Are you sure you want to do this, Wrathion?” 

“Of course, dear prince. Why do you, ah, a-ask?”

“You’re going to need to relax, then. If you don’t want to–” 

“N-no, I want to! I’m relaxed,” he grinned, but Anduin continued to watch him closely. “Just-ah-just keep going.”

He pushed back onto the hilt to make his point. It felt foreign, intrusive, but Wrathion trusted that he knew what he was doing. _He’s done this to himself, after all._ An image of the boy pushing this object in and out of himself, he cheeks flushed and his head tossed back in enjoyment, was all the encouragement Wrathion needed. He grabbed Anduin’s free hand, and, curling their fingers together around his cock, guided him in stroking it. They struggled at first to fall into pace, but, after a few clumsy pauses, Anduin managed to get both his hands moving in firm, even strokes. He pushed the hilt in and out as he slid the skin of his shaft back and forth over the head. Wrathion bucked forward into a sloppy kiss to hide the hitch in his breath. 

The distraction Anduin’s hand provided was enough to relax the rest of his body, allowing him to accommodate the human’s makeshift sex toy with relative ease. He even found himself enjoying it; it pressed against a wall inside of him, and he could feel a stirring at the base of his shaft, causing him to buck harder into the other man’s touch. He moaned against his neck. Anduin leaned down and kissed the top of his head, nuzzling his nose through his wavy hair. 

“Good…?” He murmured.

“Mhm,” was all he could manage in response. He nipped lightly at his exposed collarbone, burying his head in the crook of his neck to muffle another groan. Oh, he probably shouldn’t let the prince see him reduced to such a helpless state, but it was starting to feel surprisingly good. He couldn’t stop himself. He could only rock forward into the clutch of his hand and squeeze his eyes closed, grateful for the human’s careful movements and his chest rising and falling with excitement against Wrathion’s neck. 

After a few long thrusts, Anduin removed the hilt, and Wrathion immediately felt bereft of its fullness. However, when the human tossed it aside to reach for the jar of salve, Wrathion remembered what was supposed to happen and caught his wrist before he could unscrew the lid. “Allow me, dear prince.” 

He shifted back on his ankles, careful not to put any weight on Anduin’s knee, and removed the top of the jar. He coated his palm with the gooey balm. Reaching for the human’s erection, which had grown half-soft in a moment of intense concentration, Wrathion slicked his hand over it from base to head and rubbed it back to full hardness. Anduin watched him with a tiny, shy smile. They had always been somewhat shy about doing this right in the open, but here Wrathion was, sitting back and stroking him with nothing to obstruct Anduin’s view. He couldn’t help but notice the lust in the human’s eyes or the way his hips gave a noticeable jerk every time he wrapped around the head. He smiled slyly.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear Anduin. If you let go too early…”

“I’m not going to– by the Light, Wrathion, s-stop–stop teasing me.”

“Heh,” he reached behind himself, rubbing the remaining salve around his own opening. He shivered, but quickly hid it with a chuckle. “As you wish, your Highness.” The jokes were enough to distract from his truly confused attempt to assess the angle he needed to make this happen. He slid forward over the other man’s erection until he felt it poking up behind him, but even then, it took some work to achieve penetration. He clutched it at the base and tried to sink back on it, but the first time he couldn’t get it to go in. If Anduin noticed, he pretended he didn’t. With an appreciative smile, the dragon tucked his hips forward slightly and moved his hand up from the base to the middle of the shaft, using this for leverage as he pressed down onto the head. He bit his lip. His free hand rushed to reach for Anduin’s, clutching it firmly at his side.

He felt it stretching, tighter than Wrathion would have thought possible, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep down a cry. For a fleeting moment he considered yanking it out, but the squeeze of Anduin’s fingers between his own was enough to keep him going. He drew in a deep breath and, biting his lip, continued to lower his hips. Once it made it past the head, it became easier. He closed his eyes and sat down completely, willing his body to adjust to this new intrusion while his fingers locked desperately around Anduin’s hand. 

Anduin, on the other hand, did nothing to suppress the cry that escaped from his lips. When Wrathion opened his eyes, he found him panting and staring up at his with grin, his cheeks impossibly pink against the usual paleness of his skin. Wrathion couldn’t help but return his smile, caught up in every jagged breath and the feel of his hand trembling against his own. Maybe this was going to be worth it, after all, he thought to himself with a tiny laugh. The pain behind him felt like a distant memory. 

But through the haze of his own enjoyment, Anduin seemed to come to his senses. “A-are you okay?” He stammered, hastily rubbing Wrathion’s thigh with the palm of his hand. Worry crept into his happy smile, and Wrathion wanted nothing more than to chase it away.

“Are _you_ okay, my prince?” He rose up a few inches before sinking down again. This earned the response he was looking for: Anduin threw back his head, letting out another cry. “You really should see yourself right now…”

“It feels–ah– really good,” Anduin replied, sheepishly. “Next time I’ll let you…”

“But for now,” he brought Anduin’s hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles in a gesture of mock chivalry. Anduin giggled. They stared at each other for a moment, and neither of them could hold back a blush. “But for now, let’s focus on this time, shall we?” Anduin nodded, and Wrathion rocked forward.

It still hurt, but the pain was soon overcome by pleasure at the feeling of him pressing against his wall, more distinct and powerful than the tiny hilt had been. Anduin released his hold on Wrathion’s hand to clutch at his sides, and Wrathion took the hint, resting his own fingers against Anduin’s shoulders and allowing him to guide their thrusts. He closed his eyes; his breath hitched. With each shallow push backwards, he felt a new kind of tension building up inside of him, and he could only keep going, rolling his hips to deepen the contact and all but groaning as his cock rubbed between their abdomens. His fingers fumbled to undo the last few buttons of the human’s shirt, giving him more room to rub himself back and forth against the other man’s skin. 

As they fell into rhythm, each thrust became harder, deeper. Wrathion murmured Anduin’s name against the bump in his throat, and the human nodded quickly in response, lifting his hips from the bed to force it in even deeper. His hands slid even further down his back, and he could only squirm under his touch, kissing and nibbling the skin beneath his mouth with a reckless desperation that cared little about the marks he left beneath them. Anduin let out a sigh; he shifted slightly, changing the angle of his hips and bringing them together with a steady push.

Wrathion felt a jolt deep inside of him: it filled him with a tightness he couldn’t quite put into words, and, for a moment, he thought he had released right on the spot. But the feeling continued; with every nudge against it, it sparked within him anew, and he had to sink his teeth into Anduin’s neck to hold back a yell. The human winced into his hair, but made no move to slow his movements, instead kissing his forehead and drawing him closer as he replicated the thrust again and again.

 

“There…?” Anduin murmured.

“Uhu-yeah...” Wrathion’s cry fell into voicelessness. He threw back his head, conscious only of the tension building and releasing inside of him and the human’s hands guiding him down into thrust after blissful thrust. He was so caught up in the feeling that he barely noticed Anduin shifting beneath him until he was pushed, none too ceremoniously, down onto the bed. The human came up behind him and draped his leg over the top of his thigh. Pushing back into him without any hesitation, he reached around and clutching his hands against his chest as he resumed his ministrations.

Under different circumstances, Wrathion may have not been so pleased with having his cheek pushed into the pillow and his neck bit in a surprising show of dominance, but with Anduin moving in and out of him, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It felt good being wrapped in his warm embrace, and even better when he nudged against that spot deep inside, filling him with pressure and bliss in all the right ways. 

Anduin’s breath hitched, and, if the slowing of his thrusts were any indication, he seemed to be fighting the urge to come. He felt the human’s lips pressing gently against his neck; he brushed back his hair with his nose, revealing more skin for him to kiss. His hands left Wrathion’s to wander across his chest, rubbing against his nipple, sliding down over the muscles of his abdomen, and ruffling through the hair at the base of his cock. Wrathion could only tilt his head back and shudder. Anduin kissed his ear, whispering: “Light, Wrathion, you’re so hot.”

His cheeks burned. Suddenly, he was thankful for the pillow, nuzzling his face into it in what he hoped _wasn’t_ an obvious show of embarrassment. “Such is the power of a dragon, I suppose,” he murmured, his voice more breathless than he would have liked. Anduin chuckled against his ear. 

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“And you-ah–” Anduin’s fingers had circled around his erection, smearing liquid from the tip down to the base of the shaft, moving with ease over the damp surface. He moaned in spite of himself. “Y-you like it, too, Anduin Wrynn.”

“Heh, I really do,” the human’s laugh was stilted and warm. He started thrusting his hips again, slamming into him without restraint; he worked his hand up and down his shaft in time with every rock of his body against him. Wrathion dug his claws into the corner of the pillow. He felt the fabric rip beneath his clutch, but couldn’t help himself as Anduin pressed against _that spot_ and his entire lower body seemed to tense. He could feel his climax mounting; every jerk seemed to draw it out of him, and he could only lean back against Anduin’s chest and gasp for air as it overtook him. It started deep inside: a wave mounting, and rolling down and out into Anduin’s hand. He came in several long, forceful bursts, quivering and shaking back into the arms of the man who held him. His head dipped forward, and he struggled to catch his breath.

Anduin continued moving, riding his orgasm with him and pressing on into his own bliss. Seeming to forget about the mess on his hand, he used it to clutch at Wrathion’s hip. He pounded down into him, again and again, several cries escaping his lips and disappearing into Wrathion’s hair. With one last, steady thrust he sank deep into his body and called out his name; his chest shuddered against Wrathion’s body; he murmured appreciatively. The dragon’s heart, still hammering, fluttered at this obvious show of passion and enjoyment the human was taking within him. When the thrusting stilled, he reached for Anduin’s splattered hand and held it against his chest, closing his eyes and relaxing into the throbbing and trembling of the other man’s body against his own. He sighed. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. 

They lay there together for what could have been seconds or minutes; Anduin’s breathing came to a slow, cooling the faint hint of sweat resting beneath his hair. Wrathion rubbed his fingers. As Anduin’s body relaxed, he felt him slide out of him, squeezing his hand as if to make up for his absence elsewhere. The human merely sighed in response; he leaned his forehead against Wrathion’s shoulder, and drifted off into a doze.

But Wrathion was awake. He stared across the tousled sheets spread out beneath them and to the window at the other end of the room. Light peeked between the curtains. He was caught between the desire to stay wrapped in Anduin’s embrace and the confusing mix of hesitation and vulnerability prompting him to pull away. He felt like there was something he should do, something he should say, at least. But anything he tried to piece together in his mind fell apart, and the human seemed content to nuzzle his neck and kiss lightly at the top of his back.

He finally settled on a topic: “It’s a shame we visited the ruins under such circumstances. It would have been… fun to explore them with you.”

“Hm?” Anduin mumbled. The sound vibrated against his skin. “Hm-yeah, maybe some other time…”

“…We could visit the Temple of the Red Crane? Before I leave, if your father doesn’t lock you in this room for the rest of your life, that is.” The words tumbled from his mouth; he squirmed under Anduin’s leg. “I have been meaning to go, anyway, you see.”

But Anduin clearly wasn’t interested in conversation. “Hmm, we can go,” he managed with a sleepy sigh. The hand he cupped between his own started to relax, and the breaths in his hair fell into a quiet, steady rhythm. Wrathion had to move. He gave the human’s leg a small pat, extricating himself, and rolling away towards the other side of the bed. When his feet hit the floor, his knees faltered with an unexpected tremor that worked its way from his thighs to his calves. His nerves were alight in all kinds of interesting ways: he was sore, but the rush of adrenaline and the pleasant relaxation of muscles filled him with a euphoria that made it easier to bear. It stirred him into action; he found his balance, and walked over to the basin on Anduin’s dresser. 

Picking up the towel folded neatly beside it, he used it to wash off the mess on his hands, his hip, his abdomen, and finally, the back of his thigh. He let out a small hiss. Trying his best to ignore the rawness he encountered there, he straightened up and returned to the bed. He reached over and mopped up the space where he had been lying, taking great care to clean up his own mess and then leaving the towel there for Anduin’s use. He stepped into his pants and slipped on his undershirt, smoothing everything out, and heading towards the door.

When he stepped into the adjacent room, Right and Left both looked up from their stations at the opposite door. He tried his best to muster what he hoped was a suave smile, but if the bemused look on Right’s face was any indication he was only marginally successful. He made for the pile of armor he had left on a nearby chair, putting on first his sash, then his pauldrons, and finally, his hip guards. He slid his feet into his shoes and carefully wrapped his sweaty hair up into his turban. His guards stayed silent, but he could feel them watching his back with curiosity.

“Do I look presentable?” _Can you tell what I was doing?_ He silently added, though he trusted his agents would understand.

“Yes, sir,” Right answered, “but where–”

“I am going for a…walk,” he decided as he spoke, realizing that it would be the only way to calm the jitters coursing through his veins. He could hear Left readying her crossbow, and quickly turned around to stop her before she went any further. “Just around the keep. No need to follow me. If I run into trouble, I will call for you.”

“Sir,” Left protested, “the king–” 

“– Plans to meet with me in a few hours. Surely he doesn’t expect me to stay confined to this room until then.” Part of him knew that this was _exactly_ what the king expected, but the human’s insistence on propriety and hospitality would at least partially stifle any adverse reaction he might have. He looked down at his armor one last time, smoothing out a few battered dragon scales with his hands; his gloves were damaged during the fight, but he was going to have to make do with what he had. Satisfied, he walked past his guards and out the door. 

The darkness that had filled the hallway during the night was yielding to grey; the air was cool and heavy with salt from the sea and the fog rolling off of the rainforest that lay at the outskirts of the keep. A few guards paced around in the courtyard beneath its inner windows, but up in the royal quarters silence still prevailed. Wrathion could hear the soft pad of his shoes with every step he took. He wondered fleetingly how far the sounds from Anduin’s bedroom had carried in this quiet corridor, but soon decided it wasn’t something he was particularly concerned about. The king must have known what to expect when he roomed them together. 

Breathing in the salty air, Wrathion felt the mix of chemicals that filled his human body starting to return to normal. He leaned his forearms against the window and watched the soldiers file in and out of the gate door beneath him; their mundane movements helped clear his head, and it became easier for him to process what had just happened. He wasn’t one for sentimental feelings, but having Anduin inside of him, seeing him flushed with color and feeling his careful attempts to satisfy Wrathion in every way he could manage, was almost more than he could take. It made him feel… strange in ways he couldn’t quite explain. As he had told Anduin before, this _wasn’t_ according to plan, and the possible complications it presented for him, for the human, and even for the world itself was something Wrathion wasn’t prepared to accept. And yet, the feelings lingered; he couldn’t help himself. His head reeled. 

He left his place at the window and turned the corner down the adjacent hallway. At the far end of this space, he could see a thin yellow line shining in the darkness like a beacon. Guards stood at either side of an ajar door; they straightened up when they saw him coming. When he came to a stop in front of them, they fumbled for their shields and shouldered together to block the room behind them from view. But a voice from inside stilled their movements. “Let him in,” the king commanded, his voice deep but weary. 

He nodded to the guards at they stepped aside, and, turning sideways, he eased his way over the threshold. Varian was hard at work rolling up scrolls that had been spread across his desk and tucking them away into a bottom drawer, far from Wrathion’s eyes, which, he imagined, was the point. He stayed by the door until the king waved him to a seat. Finally, when the table was empty save for a few cups and a pitcher, the human nodded at him.

Wrathion sat down. He squirmed slightly, trying to put as little weight on his backside as possible, but Varian didn’t seem to notice. He poured some black liquid that Wrathion didn’t recognize into a cup, and passed it across the table. Steam curled up from the brim. Wrathion wrapped his fingers around the outside, suddenly conscious of the king’s stare drifting towards his nails and regarding them with an indiscernible look. He took a sip of the drink. It was so bitter, he almost spit it out.

Upon seeing Wrathion flinch, Varian’s expression started to soften. He reached over for another cup and nudged it in the dragon’s direction. He could see white crystals shifting inside as it made its way across the desk. “You’ll probably like it better with this,” Varian spoke up after the lengthy pause. “It’s coffee. It requires some getting used to.”

Wrathion nodded, adding a generous helping of the sugar to his cup. He swirled it around until it dissolved before bringing it back to his lips. It was much more agreeable this time– potent, to be sure, but at least some of the edge was gone. He made a small ‘hm’ of approval before swallowing. 

“Anduin won’t drink it at all,” Varian added; Wrathion knew this afterthought wasn’t as much of a non sequitur as it might, at first, have seemed.

“I’m not all that surprised,” Wrathion took another sip. The flavor was growing on him, and the warm feeling of it sliding down his throat was a welcome change after inhaling the morning air. “I’ve even seen him put sugar in tea, and the teas we have at the Tavern aren’t bitter.”

Varian nodded. Some of the tension in the air seemed to fall away. “Wrathion, can I ask you an honest question?”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“Is he mad at me?”

The dragon regarded him with a level stare, the rim of his cup still pressed against his lips. “That’s a question for him, not me.” He refused to sit and speculate about Anduin’s emotional state with anyone, let alone his own father. What was the king playing at?

“If he’s angry about what I said at dinner, he’s…justified,” Wrathion could hear the unease creeping into the king’s voice. He raised an eyebrow, surprised at the direction this conversation was taking. He couldn’t tell if the king was apologizing, or urging Wrathion to intercede on his behalf, or– both, possibly, if the earnest regret on his face was any indication. But Wrathion knew full well that Anduin’s attitude towards his father was far more complicated than the little fight the three of them had had. This was a matter for him and his father to sort out, and Wrathion had no desire to play messenger.

He set down his coffee, leaning back slightly in his chair to relieve some of the pressure. “You need to talk to him about it. It really isn’t my business.”

He could feel the king growing agitated, so he quickly decided it best to reveal enough about the situation to vindicate himself. “Our captors said some things that upset him, before I had the chance to stop them. That’s all I will say.”

“And yet he seems perfectly content to talk to you…”

“That’s all I will say.” 

The king cleared his face of any concern, using the coffee as a distraction from the hint of desperation that threatened to overtake his voice. He poured another cup. Taking a sip, he regarded him with a long stare. “Wrathion, what do you want with my son?”

He narrowed his eyes. His arms crossed over his chest in a gesture of simultaneous defiance and protection. “What do you mean, your Majesty?” The last syllable stung on his tongue. 

The king let out a sigh. “Don’t play innocent with me, Wrathion. We all know of your schemes. I just fail to see what my son can do for you. If you’re imagining some scenario where the two of you rule Azeroth as kings–”

“You don’t give your son enough credit. You should try listening to him.”

Varian’s frown deepened, the knuckles at the edge of his cup growing white. For a moment, it seemed as if he would crack the porcelain, but he released his hold before that could happen. Folding his hands in front of him, he watched the dragon with icy eyes. “So you listen to him, then? Did you listen to him before you sent your champions to attack this base?”

Wrathion wanted to point out that he hadn’t known Anduin when he made that decision, but realized that correcting him wouldn’t really help his cause. He merely sighed, sitting up straighter in spite of the discomfort it caused him. “Anduin and I argue about politics. I could hand him a crown, but I could never convince him to rule as an autocrat.”

“Then why spend so much time with him? Are you trying to groom him into being your puppet?”

“No.” He was offended that the king would think him willing to do such a thing. And yet, there were dimensions of their relationship that he couldn’t quite explain– shouldn’t have to explain– to the king sitting across from him. Anduin had sought his friendship, spoken to him like a person when nobody else would, and continued to return even though they disagreed. But none of that was for Varian’s ears. He was no subject of the Alliance, and, even while supporting them, was under no compulsion to reveal anything to this man. “Anduin brings other traits to the table, traits I value,” he said, simply. “We will need people like him when the Legion comes.”

“I still fail to see how that justifies a personal relationship with him.”

“Am I not allowed to have feelings, _your Majesty_?” Wrathion snapped before he managed stop himself. 

“I don’t know, Wrathion,” Varian sighed. His face looked weary; any hint of anger had yielded to fatigue. “I don’t know anything about you. The only context I have is–”

“Corrupted black dragons, I know.” Oh, did he know. He wondered how many generations would have to pass before people stopped thinking of his family when they thought of him. He thought of the threat in his tent, the whispers he had heard among his own champions. He thought of this very king who sat across from him and his declaration at the two nights before. How could he expend any of his energy clearing these assumptions while he knew Azeroth’s safety hung in the balance? He shouldn’t have to clear his name of his father’s deeds, and yet here he was: trapped by them, haunted by them. 

“I have feelings,” Wrathion insisted. Firmly. Definitely. “And I have no desire to hurt your son.”

_________________________

Anduin was not surprised to find that Wrathion had already left his room. Whether it was embarrassment, a half-hearted attempt at self-control, or simply _his way_ , he had done this many times in the past, and Anduin had come to expect it. It was simply another facet of his personality. As much as he enjoyed waking up beside him, he couldn’t fault him for it.

He had, however, left a towel in his place; Anduin was grateful for it, using it to clean up himself and the sheets before rising and making his way over to his dresser. He looked in the mirror. The white skin of his neck was marred by several bruises and a distinct set of teeth marks in an arc against the base of his throat. Color rose to his cheeks. He healed the more obvious marks, but kept a few bites he knew he could easily hide beneath his collar. The thought of these visible memories of their lovemaking lingering on his skin made the blood rush to his cheeks as well as…other locations, and the thought of showing them to Wrathion later was all the more exciting.

Buttoning up a shirt and slipping on his tabard, he checked his neck one more time to make sure he was clear. Satisfied, he walked back over to the bed and, sitting down, shimmied into his pants. This caused his curtains to sway, and light spilled down onto his comforter from the window behind him. He suddenly realized that he may have overslept. Making quick work of his shoes and grabbing his cane, he hurried out through the door.

Left and Right were gone, confirming his concerns. He hurried out through the second set of doors and down the hall, turning the corner, and finding his father’s room waiting, door ajar, at the other end. He made for the light. Wrathion’s agents were stationed next to Stormwind guards, each flanking one side of the doorway. He smiled at them, and then crossed into his father’s office.

Four chairs were clustered around his desk. Wrathion sat to one side; in profile, Anduin could make out the curious look he was giving Kalecgos, who sat directly across from him. Jaina sat to Kalecgos’ left, her white hair spilling down the back of her chair, and an empty seat had been left between her and Wrathion for his apparent use. She and his father were in such deep discussion that nobody but Wrathion seemed to hear him come in. He looked over and nodded. Finally, Varian greeted him: “Anduin, join us.”

“Okay,” he mumbled shyly. “Sorry I’m late…”

“Don’t worry. I know you needed to rest.”

Anduin tried his very best not to blush when he noticed the corners of Wrathion’s mouth twitching upwards. His father seemed more accommodating than usual this morning; he was surprised to see him sitting so comfortably next to Wrathion. He passed the dragon a plate of pastries without hesitation, and seemed unconcerned when Anduin scooted his chair a bit closer to him. Anduin felt his shoulders relax, and greeted each of the assembled company with a smile.

After returning his grin with a nod, Jaina turned her attention back to the group. “What I still want to know is what Garrosh thinks he will accomplish by turning on his own people. He is breaking down their ranks from within.”

“I’m not really sure we can make sense of Garrosh’s choices, at this point,” Kalecgos added. “It seems like some kind of madness has set in, something beyond our current knowledge, even.” 

“If that’s the case,” Varian seemed to mull over their words, staring down into his coffee for a pause, “It shouldn’t be too difficult to dismantle his leadership. With most of the horde revolting, he will soon find little support in Orgrimmar.” Wrathion offered a small nod of approval, which, Anduin had to admit, surprised him slightly. He watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to get some sense of his emotional state and _just how long he had been sitting here talking to his father._

Jaina seemed less convinced, however, speaking up in protest. “But can we truly trust Vol’jin and his rebels? And we don’t even know if Sylvanas and Baine Bloodhoof intend to break with the Warchief…”

“Sylvanas hates him. She has always hated him, as far as I understand,” Varian paused, offering Anduin a faint smile. “As for the tauren, I propose we invite representatives from their faction for a conference, so we can learn for sure where their loyalties rest. Anduin, would you be willing to preside?”

His eyes widened slightly. He straightened up in his seat, trying to mask his surprise with a dignified smile. “Yes, I would be glad to help.” His father looked relieved.

“But even with their approval we have no guarantee they won’t turn on us when Garrosh is disposed,” Jaina still sounded hesitant to accept this tentative alliance, and understandably so. Anduin wanted to assure her that believing in peace was the best option, but knew that if it backfired, it would put her in an even worse emotional position than she already was in. He gave her space, and let her protest. “Wouldn’t it be better to rally our own troops for an attack and take out all of them while they’re occupied in Orgrimmar?”

If Varian was frustrated, he was clearly to keep it under control. “I just don’t think we have that option, Jaina. Imagine the casualties on our end, if we tried to fight them on their own continent. It just isn’t feasible.”

“Unless you beat them at their own game, of course.” Anduin had wondered how long it would take for Wrathion to add his own voice to the discussion, but, when he did, Anduin kind of wished he hadn’t. He reached over beneath the table and took his hand. Varian seemed to notice, but his expression remained deadpan. 

“How so, Wrathion?” Kalecgos, on the other hand, looked utterly divided. His eyes were full and curious, but his lips were set in a frown. “Surely you don’t mean…”

“That’s exactly what I mean, Kalecgos.” Wrathion’s voice grew defensive. Anduin gave his hand a small squeeze, running his thumb across the bump of tendons in his wrist, hoping the gentle touch would remind him to stay calm. But, to his surprise, his father seemed willing to listen, and Jaina’s expression was utterly rapt. 

“Fight beside them until Garrosh is disposed, and then turn around and subdue them under your might. If you suspect it from them, why not do it yourself? Why not take control when you have the chance?”

“That might seem acceptable to _your kind_ , Wrathion, but the Alliance fights with honor.” Ah, there it was: Varian’s disapproval was, once again, threatening to surface. But Wrathion merely wrinkled his nose, and nobody else rushed to agree. Anduin shoved a pastry in his mouth to silence his conflicting desires to protest or concede. 

Finally, Jaina responded. “But on the other hand, war is war. We should do what we must if it’s best for our people in the long run.”

Wrathion all but beamed at Jaina. Well, it looked like one member of his family would get along with his boyfriend, at least (for better or for worse). He swallowed, barely tasting the chocolate on his tongue. 

“And what do you think about this, Anduin?” Varian watched him reach for another pastry. 

He stopped with his arm on the table, looking from person to expectant person with a tentative frown. “Well, you know I hate war…” Wrathion gave his other hand a squeeze: it wasn’t a gesture of protest, but of respect, the willingness to listen to what he had to say. The human’s frown turned up into a smile. “I get what Wrathion and Aunt Jaina are saying, but the thought of betraying Baine and the others seems really unfair. If we fight beside them, it has to be like when we fought Deathwing,” _or the Lich King,_ he wanted to add, but couldn’t find it in himself to say. “They’ll be our allies, you know, and we have to keep that trust. We can’t just slaughter Vol’jin and the others without cause.”

He looked around, expecting someone to call him naïve, expecting Wrathion to tease him. But if he was angry, he kept it to himself; his voice was surprisingly calm. “Ideals are one thing, but wouldn’t it be so much easier if you were all one faction? Imagine if you never had to have this conversation again. If they were your subjects–” 

“But not like this, Wrathion,” he shook his head. “Not like this.”

“Once again, we’re going to have to agree to disagree, my dear prince.”

He could feel heat rising to his cheeks as he waited for someone to react to Wrathion’s affectionate coo, but nobody seemed especially alarmed. His father even looked…proud of him, in a strange way. He watched him over the top of his coffee cup, nodding, before taking another swig. Anduin met the nod with a smile, grateful to whoever or _whatever_ had convinced Varian to show him– them– this level of respect. His chest felt lighter; he drew in a deep breath. 

“But we really don’t have to decide all of this now, do we?” He added. Beside him, Jaina let out a small ‘hm.’ “I mean, we don’t even know who led the attack on Halfhill. We should probably focus on that first, right?”

“The attack on Halfhill was orchestrated by an extremist group that has surfaced among some of the orcs. It doesn’t appear to be a sanctioned act, though Garrosh, of course, has made no move to apologize.”

“An extremist group? What do you mean?”

Varian continued. “They seek to bolster Garrosh’s power and bring back an ‘ _Old Way_ ’ free of demonic corruption or outside influences. They have risen up against warlocks, sin’dorei, and forsaken because they see them as slaves to ‘unnatural’ powers. They hate the trolls and us, of course, because we stand up to Garrosh, and,” he paused, looking at Wrathion, “we think they’ve chosen Wrathion as a target because of Nefarian’s alliance with the Dark Horde.”

“But who _doesn’t_ hate Nefarian?” Wrathion quipped. He caught the faintest hint of a smile twitching at Kalecgos’s lips. “I mean _honestly_.”

Well, Anduin was, at least, somewhat relieved that this bout of antagonism against Wrathion wasn’t sparked by their relationship, as Kleexle had suggested. For a moment he thought to bring up the issue, but, looking at his father, immediately decided he better not. Varian was acting agreeable towards them for now, and he wanted nothing more than to keep that peace for as long as possible. 

“However, it seems their behavior is erratic and contradictory. When questioned, our prisoners said they respected Garrosh’s choice to involve himself with the Dragonmaw and seek out corrupted weapons elsewhere, but were still concerned about the demons and Rend Blackhand’s allegiance to the Black Dragonflight. Nothing they said made sense. We have to keep expecting the worst.”

“I’ve been expecting the worst for months, Varian,” Jaina responded. Her voice was intense but steady. “And we have to keep expecting the worst. That is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Anduin thought back to their captors, to the conflict he had sensed between them whenever anyone made mention of Garrosh’s name. There was going to be a war, whether he liked it or not, and with attacks like the one a few days ago they had to put an end to things before more people lost their lives. For his people, and the good orcs and tauren who remained under Garrosh’s control. For Jaina and the countless innocents who had lost their life on Kalimdor, and in Pandaria. And for Wrathion…to stop whatever hate was brewing against him among the ranks of Garrosh’s followers. He accepted this. He was ready, though he hoped, in the end, his father would keep his honor and stand by his promises unless it became absolutely impossible to do so. 

Even in the face of war, he had to keep hoping that goodness would win out. In himself. In the Alliance and the Horde. And even in Wrathion.

He had to keep hoping.

_________________________

A thick mat of treetops and vines rushed by beneath the feet of his gryphon, dark and mysterious under the sun’s bright glow. He tried his best to forget what it had felt like trapped beneath those trees, instead thanking the Light for its warmth and enjoying the free air whipping against his cheeks. He climbed higher; the dragon on his shoulder tucked his head against the crook of his neck. He tilted his head to nuzzle him, and earned a small growl of approval. It felt nice to be traveling together like this.

The last few days had been a blur: Days spent meeting with generals, agents, various faction leaders, and even a tauren representative. Usually, Wrathion hadn’t been permitted to attend the conferences (much to his dismay), but he had waited in Anduin’s room until they were done, ready for as many details as he was willing to share over dinner or in the late hours of the night wrapped up together in Anduin’s bed. Varian had warned them against being too visible around the base, but had finally agreed to allow them a trip to the Temple of the Red Crane before Wrathion packed up and headed to his tavern in the north. Now they traveled together, free for a few hours, and Anduin cherished it.

He clung to each moment, knowing it wouldn’t be long until he had to say goodbye. 

The stone pillars of the temple came into view, and Anduin started his descent, swooping carefully between tree branches and landing on a solid piece of land at the edge of the swamp. He took his cane from his lap and used it to dismount, keeping his shoulders square so Wrathion could take off and land a few inches from his feet. He returned to his human form; Anduin smiled at him. He claimed his lips in a gentle kiss beneath the shade of the trees. 

Wrathion murmured, sliding his hand around Anduin’s waist to pull him closer. Out here there was only the caw of parrots overhead and the soft chanting of devotees in the distance to interrupt their exchange; he felt relaxed, at ease, and Wrathion, too, seemed to drop all pretenses. He looked into Anduin’s eyes with a warm smile, and Anduin couldn’t help but kiss him again. Even in the same forest where they had fought for their lives only days before, the struggles of politics and war seemed like a distant memory. Here in the stillness surrounding Chi-Ji’s temple, everything seemed okay.

He took Wrathion’s hand, and they started together towards the stairs leading up into the temple. They walked carefully through the shallow water; Anduin chuckled when Wrathion accidentally splashed the bottom of his pants. The Sha’s corruption had finally disappeared from this pool, and Anduin couldn’t be more thankful. Even the muggy air wasn’t bothering him. Everything looked so beautiful, and he knew Wrathion could feel it just as well as he could. He squeezed his hand and led him up towards the stairs.

“So this is Chi-Ji’s temple I’ve heard so much about,” Wrathion murmured. “The ‘Red Crane of Hope’ that has inspired the citizens of Pandaria since the very dawn of history.” 

Anduin watched him give his other wrist a shake, seeing the charm he had given him peeking out from beneath the silk of his sleeve. He beamed. Wrathion nodded.

“I very much want to speak with him.”

“You won’t regret it!” Anduin exclaimed, growing more and more excited with every stair he took. It was difficult navigating the stone steps with his cane, but he was too pleased and determined to care. The fact that Wrathion was showing an interest in the Celestial and what he had to say was encouraging, and, in light of everything going on in the world, Anduin couldn’t help but wonder what words of advice he would have for them. They needed his council more than ever, and Wrathion’s willingness to listen renewed Anduin’s faith in him and belief in his ultimate goodness. His thoughts confirmed his feelings; his chest felt lighter than it had in days.

Once inside the temple, they were greeted by a pandaren devotee who gestured them towards a second flight of stairs. Anduin knew the way, but he bowed to her and allowed her to guide them. “We are grateful for your visit, Prince Anduin,” she grinned, “and you, Prince Wrathion. The Red Crane has been expecting you.”

“Has he?” Wrathion sounded concerned, but Anduin’s smile seemed to put his unease to rest. He gave his hand one last squeeze, and then stepped down onto the final step. Anduin lagged behind, curious to see what would happen. 

“My my, the child of the Worldbreaker.” A low voice echoed from the other side of the chamber. Its warmth filled the air, tingling on Anduin’s skin and filling him with a peace that made it difficult to worry over his greeting. The dragon, too, seemed to feel it, bowing his head and waiting for the crane to continue.

“Proof that none are beyond redemption.”

And in the stillness of the temple, and with the light of hope rising in his chest, Anduin couldn’t have agreed more.


End file.
